Mind's Eye
by bigblackhorse4
Summary: In the aftermath of the Chitauri attack on NYC, Agent Clint Barton is assigned to scout for any leftover dangers in the city. During this recon mission, he happens across a teenage girl living on the streets. He brings her back to Stark Tower, but as time goes on, it's apparent she'll have to learn to trust before she can share her secrets. Established BlackHawk & Pepperony
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: **I've had writer's block for the better part of four years. Yesterday was the first day I'd actually wanted/needed to write so I ran with it. I'm not sure how many chapters are planned. I know where I want it to go, but I usually underestimate how many words/chapters so I'll just leave it be. _  
_

Otherwise, I ship BlackHawk. This is mostly Clint's story though.

Any reviews and/or constructive criticisis are welcome! Next chapter should be up soon.

_How do you convince a person who trusts no one that you're not going to hurt them? Especially when you've __hurt __killed so many with your own hands? Is it even possible—to earn that much trust from someone? Where do you even start?_

**Mind's Eye: Chapter One**

"Do you want me to call 911? Or your parents? No? But you _really_ need medical attention," Clint Barton said, stepping towards the emaciated girl, head tilted to the side as he tried to inspect the bloodstain spreading across her shirt. The girl scrambled backwards, shaking her head back and forth violently. She backed herself right into a wall, fear shining from her eyes. Clint stopped; she clearly was still scared from her encounter. "I'm not going to hurt you. Come on, please, you're bleeding, let me take a look."

Arms crossed in front of her bloody abdomen, she leaned against the wall, shaking like a sapling in a windstorm. "I'm fine. Really. Just a little cut. It's fine. I'm fine." Her voice was breathless, a whisper: as insubstantial as she was.

"Sweetheart, I've been in my share of firefights. That's not a little cut." Hands raised, palms out, Clint inched forward. "If you won't let me look at it, then I'm going to take you a hospital. You're, _at the least_, going to need multiple stitches."

_:If not emergency surgery._

Sheer panic: the girl's head snapped up and her breathing quickened, "No! I'm not going to a hospital!" She bolted down the alley, but only made it about five feet before she stumbled and collapsed, the wall of the building catching her partially. Slowly, her body slid down the wall, until she was curled in the fetal position at its base, whimpering softly, with her arms still wrapped around her, protecting her **belly.**

Clint ran to her, kneeled down in the grime of the alleyway and reached to sweep a muddy brown lock out of her face, but stopped inches away from contact when she cringed away from his outstretched hand. He sighed, glanced around to make sure the three thugs weren't regrouping for a second attempt, and then rocked his weight back until he was balancing on the balls of his feet. He quickly checked the safety on his gun, making sure it was easily accessible. _:You never can be_ too _ready._ But Clint and the girl were alone in this dank, dark alley.

_:She's going to bleed out right here in front of me, if she won't let me near her._ He ran his left hand through his hair, ideas flashing by as he discarded them one after the other. After approximately thirty seconds, he settled on one. "So. Do you have a name?"

Murky green eyes peered up at him from behind the girl's brown bangs. Her eyes flickered with suspicion, but she answered, "Hailey."

"Hi, Hailey. My name is Clint Barton. Am I understanding you correctly? That I'm not allowed to touch you?" Hailey shifted, straining herself until she was propped up, with her back braced against the wall. She swept her bangs to the side with a toss of her head, reminding Clint of an impatient horse tossing its head to rid itself of an annoying fly. She studied him for a few moments, then nodded her head "yes".

"Is it me specifically that can't touch you?" Hailey's head shook no this time, no hesitation. _:Nice to know it's not personal, I guess._

"So you don't want any _men_ touching you?" Clint asked, already reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone. :_Please Nat, don't have boarded that plane._ "If I get a woman, a friend of mine, to come here, will you let her look at you, since a hospital is apparently out of the question?" His finger was posed, waiting for confirmation, to hit the speed dial to Natasha's cell phone. But again, Hailey's head shook no vehemently.

_:Well, it's not like Natasha has a medical background anyways. Or an overabundance of maternal instinct. Alright, time to change tactics._ He slid his phone back into his pocket and remained crouching, running through his Plan B. Clint didn't want to bully her when she was so clearly terrified, but she wasn't leaving him many options. _:Last resort_, he promised himself.

"Hailey, what would you do if I wasn't here? If I walked away right now?" Clint queried. Hailey continued to watch him with a guarded expression, but made no effort to speak or move. "Would you call someone to help you? Or would you just let yourself die here?"

The girl blanched when he said "die", but didn't refute it. Her gaze turned to the ground. Hailey's skin was computer paper white in heavy contrast to the crimson blood stain that had now soaked down through to her baggy pants and also up to chest level. The wound needed pressure, a lot of it: certainly a hell of a lot more than was being provided by Hailey, skinny arms crossing over her midsection.

"Do you want to die?" Clint asked tentatively. Hailey continued to avoid eye contact with him, instead focusing on a lone red cobblestone amongst the gray. _:Guess that's a yes. What_ _a…_

"Waste."

Her eyebrows scrunched together as she glanced back up at him, "What?"

"You. Letting yourself die. What a f*cking waste."

"Be easier," she murmured, but studied him with a new light, surprise flitting across her thin face.

Clint snorted, "Yeah, it would be easier. Doesn't make it right though. Or easier on those you leave behind."

The frown came back, marring the smoothness of her pretty, yet pinched face, and her eyes shifted back to the red cobblestone. "Don't have anyone."

_:That'd explain why she was eating out of dumpsters and living in a back alley of New York City,_ Clint thought, the idea sickening him, that this girl, who couldn't be more than fifteen years old, had consigned herself to death, because she had absolutely nothing and no one to look forward to. _:Her parents better be dead, or scouring the world for her, otherwise they'll wish they _were _dead._ Clint wasn't proud of that thought, but, he shrugged his shoulders, can't help what flashes through your mind. His attention returned to Hailey; her head was cocked to the side, scrutinizing him.

_:That's it, she can hate or thank me later. _Clint moved fast—he stripped off his light jacket, folded it over and over, making it into long, thin pad of fabric, then reached for Hailey's abdomen, holding it out in front of him. She saw what he was doing and started to try to crawl away, but she was in no condition to outrun or outmaneuver him. His skin brushed her's as he pressed his jacket into the center of her torso, his right hand gently reaching to move her bloody arms out of the way of his makeshift bandage, but Hailey's arms jerked away, suddenly reaching up to cradle her head.

Concerned, Clint started, "Hailey, did you hit your head on…" Promptly, the girl's eyes rolled back in her head, and she slumped over, unconscious. _:That certainly makes it easier. _

He didn't waste any time. Still applying pressure to her oozing knife wound, Clint rolled Hailey on her side, wrapped his jacket around her, tying it in the back over her blue t-shirt to maintain a pressure bandage. Underneath that baggy shirt she was little more than a skeleton; her hip bones and rib cage stuck out at angles, and Clint was certain he could find sores where her skins had been rubbed raw between bone and clothing. Jaw clenched in anger, he swooped her off the ground, arranging her so her face was nestled in the crook of his elbow. _:You have someone now, whether you like it or not._

Clint half-ran out of the alley, reached the street where his SHIELD car was parked. The car's lights flashed once as he approached, the locks pushed up by the keyless remote sitting in his pocket. He could feel eyes on him: bewildered pizzeria patrons watching from their outdoor tables—the pizzeria he'd been eating at a short time ago. Ignoring them, Clint shifted Hailey's weight over to his left arm and shoulder, so he could grab the door handle for the driver's side back door. He sensed multiple people pulling out their cell phones, no doubt to call the police, thinking he'd abducted her. :_Never mind of course, that I'm in uniform, complete with a gun belt and everything. Ugh. Civilians. So unaware._

Door opened, Clint leaned in, bracing his knee on the floor as he carefully transferred Hailey to the backseat, placing her on her back. He debated about getting a seatbelt on her somehow, but disregarded it_. :Have to drive fast but careful. Real careful. _One last glance—still breathing, still bleeding—and he slammed the door shut and opened the driver's door, hopping in. It was a push button start and he'd already shifted into drive just as it was cycling down from starting up, as he simultaneously activated the blue and red flashing lights on the dash.

Clint had his phone out two seconds later and was flipping through contacts, searching for one of the last people he'd ever want to call on for help. He hit dial as he reached the corner, glancing in his rearview to check on his ward. The phone call rang through.

"Robin Hood! What's up?" Tony Stark answered on the second ring, smirking. "Still in New York I see."


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own or claim to own the rights or intellectual property to The Avengers movie/related comics. They belong Marvel Comics/Disney.

**Author's Note: **Thank you to all those who reviewed and favorited (is that a word?) Mind's Eye. I'm glad people are enjoying it so far. This second chapter is way, way longer than the first: heavy flashback material. Also, side-note: I have no idea why the word "belly" was in bold print in the first chapter, if anyone was wondering about it.

~**Faith NightGrace**: Glad you liked it! My aim is for a father/daughter between Clint and Hailey, eventually. There's going to be some Clint/Natasha. I like them together too much not to include it, but their relationship is pretty low profile. Much like the proverbial elephant or gorilla in the room, it doesn't need discussed much, everyone knows it's there (lol). I hope you can continue to read on despite that.

~**CloverHeart609** & **Beloved Daughter**: Soon enough? :) I hope so! I don't think I can write 4,000+ words any faster!

~**darkangel42264**: Thank you! I have many stories/books that I start and get fed up with, because I can't get the first chapter to start off right. I'm pretty pleased with this one (at the moment, anyway). Glad it snagged your interest!

~**stillhere16/Kelsey**: Thanks for your review! I hope to see this story through to its end!

* * *

**Chapter Two:**

"Robin Hood! What's up?" Tony Stark answered on the second ring. "Still in New York I see."

_:Of _course_ Stark has a tracer program for phones that shows him their exact location, even when the phone is _supposed _to be traceless. _Clint rolled his eyes, saved him some breath anyhow. "I need a favor. I need to bring someone to Stark Tower…And get a doctor, a female one, if you can." He glanced to the backseat, Hailey was still unconscious, unmoving.

"Knock up your ninja mistress?" Tony quipped, snickering softly to himself. "Why the secrecy? I thought SHIELD had awesome benefits, you know except for when you know, die. Kinda hard to fix that."

Clint started to smile, despite the situation, however it turned into a grimace—Agent Coulson was still a fresh wound; Phil would probably still be alive if he hadn't attacked the helicarrier while under Loki's control. Tony and Clint had different methods of dealing with that situation; Tony's sarcasm, Clint's a refusal to discuss it. _:Not now, worry about that later_. "It's not Natasha."

Silence. _:A new concept for Stark._

"Umm…does Agent Romanoff know about this?" Tony asked, worry/fear creeping into his voice. Clint could imagine Stark glancing over his shoulder, nervous that the infamous Black Widow might have heard him somehow. Tasha would be pleased.

"Stark, jeez, no one's pregnant. I have a teenage girl in the backseat of my car who could possibly bleed out from a knife wound to the gut if I don't get her to a hospital, but she refuses to go near one. I need a surgeon, not a damn OB/GYN."

There were electronic sounds in the background—Stark pulling something up on his 3D computer screen projection no doubt. "Time is of the essence then? Banner is here—he'll have to suffice until I can get someone else. Oh, and make a right on that alley coming up, it'll pop you out behind our shawarma joint. Garage entrance for the tower is on the north side."

Clint hastily turned down the alleyway, this one was wide enough for a car to drive down. A group of cats scattered, hiding behind the dumpsters as he accelerated past. He got a brief whiff of shawarma, then pulled out onto the main avenue leading up to Stark Tower, gas pedal to the floor. Clint made several illegal traffic maneuvers that he was happy Hailey wasn't awake for, jumped a curb onto the sidewalk, bypassing the omnipresent traffic jam of gawking tourists and Avengers fans that visited the architectural wonder that was Stark Tower.

_:Still think it's gaudy as hell, but then again, Stark designed it. Flash, showiness, and arrogance are his lifeblood. _People scattered, leaping out of the way as his car travelled down the sidewalk. Ahead about thirty feet he could see the barricaded garage entrance to the Tower. The door opened, and Clint cut the turn sharp, floored it up the ramp and into the tunnel that led up to the air-conditioned parking floor of the building.

He drove the car out of the darkness into the well-lit area home to Tony's toys: a Maserati here, a Lamborghini there, several expensive motorcycles in the corner; Clint swung wide into an empty parking spot next to where Dr. Bruce Banner was standing with Pepper Potts and a stretcher. He had the car door opening as he shifted into park and feet on the ground before the car had completely stopped rolling.

Clint flung open the door to the backseat and scrambled in, grabbing Hailey's wrist, checking for a pulse. A muted groan emitted from her lips, but no movement. _:Slow and weak, but still there. She's going to need several units of blood. _Clint scooped her up into his arms and carefully negotiated Hailey's limp body out of the now blood stained back seat and onto the stretcher that Banner had rolled over to the open door.

Dr. Banner look worried as he started to inspect Hailey abdomen. _:More worried than usual actually._ "Doctor, everything okay?" Clint queried.

Banner glanced up and met Clint's gaze. "Uh, this might be beyond me. I have training, but I don't actually have a medical degree you know."

Pepper, the model of efficiency, motioned them right along. "Come on, roll her to the elevator. Tony and Jarvis are setting up a hospital bed."

The elevator rocketed them up to the main floor. Banner dashed out the door first, running to where a large first aid kit was set up next to a hospital bed. Pepper and Clint pushed the stretcher out of the elevator, lifting it carefully over the bump of the door. Clint spared one glance for the view out the window; it was a spectacular view of Manhattan, one side completely done in glass, where he could see a landing platform for Tony when he was in his Iron Man suit.

_:Speak of the devil…_ About eight blocks away, Clint could the red and gold suit hurtling along toward the Tower, a large object flailing in Tony's arms. One block closer and Clint could see it was a person, an elderly man, Stark was carrying. _:Hope that's a doctor._

Clint returned his attention back to Hailey, who had already been transferred to the bed. Bruce had untied the jacket, removing it, while Pepper quickly pressed a bundle of sterile gauze pads onto Hailey's wound. Pepper looked up and searched the room. "Jarvis?" she asked, concern creeping into her voice, "Where's Tony?"

A voice answered (_:From the walls?_), "He went to pick up Dr. Reynolds. Direct quote: 'Feather-head sounds worried—bad sh*t went down'. However, Dr. Reynolds is fairly displeased about the method and speed of travel, but Mr. Stark did not give him much of a choice. They're less than a minute out."

Eyes tracking across the room, Clint scanned for any speakers, or computer where the voice could have emitted from. _:Nothing. The hell? Where'd that voice come from? Ugh, never mind, it's Stark. His technology has its own technology. _

He watched Pepper squint through the window, apparently seeing a trace of her Iron Man in the distance, and then return her full attention to the wound she was holding together. Bruce, wielding a pair of heavy-duty scissors, was cutting the ragged clothes off Hailey, working around where Pepper was applying pressure to the wound. Bruce stood on the opposite side of the table from Pepper, eyeing Hailey's midsection. Motioning to Pepper, Bruce said, "On the count of three, lift up that bandage for moment. I'm going to pull her shirt away. Then get the pressure back on immediately. Ok? One. Two. Three."

Pepper lifted the gauze pads and Banner carefully stripped the shirt away from the wound. The second it was removed, Pepper had the bloody gauze back on Hailey's abdomen. The wound hadn't looked good though; it was just over ten inches long and he saw where the switchblade had gone through at least two abdominal muscle walls. He just hoped it hadn't gone deeper and perforated her intestines.

Mechanical clanking and whooshing sound behind him announced the arrival of the genius, Tony Stark, and Dr. Reynolds. The last of Iron Man suit disassembled off Tony and he swooped into view. Dr. Reynolds, a man looking to be in his late sixties or early seventies, followed at more sedate pace, carrying a large leather bag. Tony cast a curious eye over Hailey, then remarked with a remotely disgusted face, "How gory." Attention on everyone else. "This is Dr. Reynolds, former professor at NYU School of Medicine, currently Head of Surgery at Mount Sinai Hospital, but scheduled to retire come winter. Doctor, you already know Pepper. That's Dr. Banner, and this," waving a hand at Clint, "is Agent Barton."

"Listen can we skip the bloody intros, there's bigger fish to fry right now," Clint snapped at Tony. Dr. Reynolds nodded, eyes already on Hailey, assessing his patient.

"Alright, I'm going to need someone to assist me, otherwise, everyone out," the surgeon stated, unzipping his bag, which was filled to the brim with medical supplies.

Bruce raised his hand, "That'd be me. I have some medical training."

Dr. Reynolds nodded his head brusquely, "Good. Now everyone out."

Pepper waited until Bruce came over and placed his hands over hers on the bandaging before pushing away from the table, stripping off the disposable gloves Clint hadn't even noticed her put on. She and Tony walked out of the room, and Clint followed grudgingly, looking over his shoulder for one last glance at Hailey. _:Nothing you can do in here, only get in the way._

Pepper pressed a button on the wall that shut the door after he walked through, and he began to pace. This is what he did on missions when he couldn't watch from a high vantage point. Pepper went to a room off on the side—Clint heard water running—then came back out and flopped down onto a comfy looking couch where Tony was already sprawled. She watched Clint as he paced for several minutes, then spoke, "Dr. Reynolds is very good. He's patched together Tony many times over the years, especially when he first was Iron Man, working out the kinks. She'll be fine."

"Hmph." Tony gave Pepper a look of betrayal.

Her eyes narrowed, "It's true and you know it."

"Nuance," he said, waving his hand as if to ward away the evil of her words. Pepper rolled her eyes and turned to smile sweetly at Clint.

Clint forced a small smile in her direction—it didn't reach his eyes he knew—but continued to pace up and down the room. His mind was running in circles. _:Should I call Tasha? No, then I'd have to explain why I didn't tell her about Hailey. I need my friend though._

Stark's self-absorbed voice broke through his concentration.

"So." Tony Stark had his phone out, sliding and tapping his right index finger rapidly across the screen. "Who's Bloody Mary? Another one of your targets that you didn't want to kill? Cause I'd say that Miss KGB seemed to be treated a bit better, at least according to the files."

"Of course I didn't gut her!" Clint threw back, his voice rising, pulse quickening. That pissed him off, plus the Miss KGB comment proceeded to irk him further—Natasha had been tortured by several KGB successors years back due to her defection from Russia. _:How the hell does he know about Natasha? That file is supposed to be encrypted _and_ blacked out. The only person who has that file in its entirety is Nick Fury_. He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth; Stark was just trying to get a rise out of him—and he was succeeding, if only momentarily. He closed his eyes briefly. _:Control yourself Barton_. Clint's eyes flashed back open—calm.

Pepper smacked Tony in the shoulder and shot him a look that conveyed volumes, then turned her attention to Clint. "Really though, who is she? Is she a relative of yours or something?"

Clint openly flinched—family is a sore subject—but shook his head "no". He shot a fleeting look towards the door that led to where Banner and Dr. Reynolds were currently working on Hailey. "Fury assigned me to stay on here in New York for a month, make sure none of the Chitauri escaped disintegration after the battle, keep tabs on body counts, and in general, watch out for any other threats. I had stopped at a pizza place, to get some lunch, decided to eat it at one of the outdoor tables, and…"

* * *

_(one week ago)_

Clint took the table closest to the restaurant, where he could sit with his back to the front wall of the building and keep an eye on his surroundings while he ate his pizza. He popped the pizza box open, the smell of green peppers and sausage wafted up to his nose. Stomach growling appreciatively, Clint dug in, fully planning to finish the entire thing here and now.

His SHIELD partner and best friend, Natasha Romanoff always teased him about how much food he consumed in a sitting. _:Never mind of course, that she can out eat me after we finish a mission._ Natasha tended not to eat much when she was working undercover, unless Clint hounded her; it was a mix of her nerves and memories of not being able to trust anyone before SHIELD recruited her, though she would never admit it either one. She didn't have to. He looked after her; he would always try their food first—if it was poisoned, only he would be hurt or killed, not her. In turn, Natasha made sure any room or building they stayed in was on the top floor, through any means necessary, even though it made escape more difficult at times, so he could actually sleep. Clint had always felt more comfortable at a height, where he could monitor situations from afar.

_:Wonder what she's up to_, Clint thought, reaching into his pocket for his cell, then on second thought, left it be. Natasha had been assigned to a brief detail in the Middle East, but she should be returning tonight, so she was somewhere over the Atlantic at the moment. _:I'll see her in a few hours._ Stilled missed her though.

He was on the fourth piece of his large pizza when he heard faint rummaging sounds coming from the alleyway around the corner. Most people wouldn't have heard it, or if they did, wouldn't care. Clint paused, pizza slice halfway to his mouth; the sounds continued. _:Probably nothing, but an alley cat. Might as well check it out though. _Nonchalantly, he stood, making for the garbage with a napkin, but really casting his gaze down the alley. It was dark, narrow, dingy—never saw the light of day, not that it affected his sight any—and lined with garbage cans.

That's when he saw the girl hunched over a garbage can, no doubt digging around for food. She was the most emaciated person Clint had seen who was still able to move around on her own two feet.

_:SHIELD training assessment: no visible weapons, mid-teens (13-15), five feet three inches tall, body mass index between 14 and 15, dark brown hair falling in tangled corkscrews and ringlets several inches past her shoulders, baggy clothing smeared in dirt and filth, skin and bones under the jeans and oversize t-shirt. Threat level: low, if not non-existent._

:_Junkie? Or terminally ill?_ Clint had seen people worldwide, many in refugee camps, wasting away from AIDS and tuberculosis that had similar body conditions to this girl's. Yet she looked healthy, aside from the fact that her body mass index was probably at or below the 1st percentile. She needed a good twenty pounds, if not thirty on her slight frame.

_:Personal assessment: needs food, clean/fitted clothing, medical care, shelter—not necessarily in that order. _

Suddenly green eyes were peering back at him. The girl was startled, frozen motionless over the trash can. She began to shrink back, moving to the shadows, fear evident on her features. Unsure, Clint watched her fade further into the darkness. _:What should I do? What should I do? _

He debated, _:Child Protective Services? Police? Follow her?_ Clint discarded the police. The NYPD was still assisting in the clean-up from the battle; a homeless child wouldn't realistically be top priority. Now footfalls, indicating the girl was running down the alley, reached his ears. _:I'll only scare her out of her wits if I follow her_.

An idea popped into his head, and Clint rushed back over to his table, picked up the box of pizza, closed the lid, and then walked to entrance to the alley. He placed the box on the ground, then walked out across the street and disappeared around a corner. Clint stopped there and peered around the corner, where he could spy on the alley entrance.

A minute passed, then like a ghost, the girl appeared from the shadows. Her eyes swept the area, looking for any danger. She bent over and grabbed the pizza box firmly in both hands, holding it close to her body. _:For heat? Or is she that happy to have food?_

Then her eyes flashed across the street, right to where Clint was standing. She gazed with a perplexed expression, and it seemed like she was looking straight into his eyes. _:She can't possibly have seen me. Coincidence?_ Next thing he knew, she'd spun on her heels and returned to the darkness of the alley.

Curiosity had overcome him. _:Why was this girl living in the streets?_

* * *

And so, every day following for next week, he returned to the pizzeria. The owner must've thought Clint had cravings for pizza that couldn't be quelled, but in reality, he couldn't tear himself away from this. He interviewed and questioned people who frequented or had businesses in the surrounding area, but no one knew that the girl was there, let alone her history. Each day, he would leave food and drink at the entrance to the alley, and on the third day, when the temperature dropped overnight to seventy degrees (perfect weather for NYC in early summer, but not for someone who had nearly zero body fat), he left one of his sweatshirts with the food.

Natasha had returned from her mission, successful, in one piece, and immensely worried about her partner. Clint knew she thought he was drowning in guilt about how many SHIELD agents' deaths he was responsible for while under Loki's control, especially Phil Coulson's. He didn't know how to explain to her this mystery girl—he really didn't even understand it himself. She tried to distract him in every way that had worked in the past, but really to no avail. Hand-to-hand combat, target practice, his favorite foods, sex: Clint tried to throw himself into her attempts with enthusiasm, but there was no fooling his partner.

She knew him just as well as he knew himself, and that was why for the past six nights she'd be watching him from the second he'd walk in through the door of their hotel room at night. Finally, the night before she brought up his behavior, "Clint you've been off. Is it about Loki and the battle?"

Clint jumped—usually the Black Widow wasn't one to be blunt. Reverse psychology, subterfuge, advanced interrogation techniques, yes. Point blank questions, no. "Tasha, no, I mean…" He sighed. _:Partially. But I also really just don't know what to do about that girl_. Each day he'd stood closer to the entrance to the alley after placing the food on the ground, and each day, the girl had looked just as scared of him as the day before. Earlier today he'd tried to speak to her, but that had sent her bolting away from him.

Natasha eyed him speculatively, arms clutched around a pillow as they laid side-by-side on the king size bed. Clint rubbed his hands over his face, then rolled over on his side, so his face was inches from hers. He took a deep breath, inhaling her soft, sweet, _misleading_ scent. He grinned despite himself, "I'm okay. Working on it. You don't have to worry."

Natasha nodded, then rested her head against his chest. Clint brushed his lips against her forehead—end of discussion.

* * *

Clint and Natasha had kissed good-bye that morning; she had to return to SHIELD headquarters to speak with Director Fury and get her next assignment, and had an 11 o'clock flight out of JFK.

They kept it short and simple. _:Never make it harder than it needs to be, _thought Clint as he left that morning to continue his scouting.

He made his rounds, checking information sources, but he had this nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. Clint gave in, hopping in a taxi, telling the driver to take him to the House of Pie Pizzeria. The cab pulled up at quarter 'til eleven; Clint paid the driver and stepped out. The restaurant had just opened a half hour ago, with fresh pies ready to go, so he paid for it and walked out to sit down at his usual table.

Second bite of the first slice and that's when he heard the scream. Clint was already running for the alley, gun drawn, safety switched off, when the second scream started. He burst into the scene, his mind processing the situation in rapid clicks.

:_Situation: three men, two of middling builds, both about five feet ten inches, similar hair and faces (Brothers?). The third: three inches over six feet tall, built like a line backer—menacing, maniacal expression in his eyes. The two brothers had guns in hand—one a 9mm Glock, the other a .357 single action revolver. Linebacker had the outline of a switchblade in his back pocket. The girl was pinned to wall, Linebacker's left hand around her neck, the right starting toward her pants. Brothers were back-up, the lackeys. Threat level: considerable, but not lethal._

:_Plan: immediate action._

Clint allowed his momentum to carry him into the thugs' midst. Brother #2 saw him coming, called a warning, tried to click the safety off his Glock and rack a bullet into the chamber, but lost precious seconds. Brother #1 raised his revolver, aimed, and subsequently found himself disarmed and with four of the fingers on his gun hand broken. He whimpered, cradling his hand to his chest, then ended up on the ground after Clint pistol-whipped him across the nose, breaking it. Brother #1 came at Clint, but he was unfamiliar with his weapon. _:Never carry a gun if you aren't going to use it._ The man didn't stand a chance. Clint snatched the gun from his hands easily, threw it behind him, and heard it land noisily in a trash can. He smiled. _:Never miss a shot._

Out of the corner of his eye, Linebacker pulled out his switchblade, and leaped at

Clint. He let the other man charge him, then ducked out of the way at the last second. Linebacker snarled and slashed at him with the knife, missing by inches. The girl was still standing where Linebacker left her. _:Come on girl, _run_!_ But his attention shifted back to the fight, quickly deflecting the jabs and slashes from the crazed man.

Then, as if she suddenly awoke, the girl pushed off from the wall and started running, making out for the light of the street. And Clint watched in horror as Linebacker lurched sideways, not for him, but for the girl.

He couldn't move fast enough—Linebacker had grabbed the girl's messy hair in his left hand, yanked her back, the switchblade flying toward her midsection in his right hand. Clint dove at them, but as he crashed into Linebacker, he could hear the sound of tearing fabric and flesh, then the feral, guttural scream that followed.

Linebacker's knife arm broke over Clint's knee, a kick to the groin sent him reeling back, and the butt of his gun knocked him unconscious. Clint turned around, blood up, to see the brothers scrambling away from him. With a voice of ice he said, "Get the hell out of here, unless you want me to finish what I started. And don't forget that." Clint tossed his head in the direction of Linebacker.

He already turned back to the girl, but not before noting that Brother #1 had wet his pants and Brother #2 was blubbering like a baby who wanted his mother. All he could hear was the rush and pounding of blood in his ears, but his focus narrowed when he saw the alarming amount of blood on the girl's abdomen. _:That bastard ripped open her whole stomach! _

With that sixth sense of his, Clint was aware of the brothers dragging their unconscious leader down the alley, away from their assailant. He disregarded them; they were not threats at the moment. She was what mattered now.

The girl was leaning against the building, breathing in shuddering gasps. "Hon, it's okay, they're gone now," Clint said in soothing tone (_:I hope?_). Her eyes were clenched closed, but they fluttered open at his words. Very pretty eyes—a sage green—though darkened by pain right now.

"Do you want me to call 911? Or your parents? No? But you _really_ need medical attention," Clint Barton said, stepping towards the emaciated girl, head tilted to the side as he tried to inspect the bloodstain spreading across her shirt. The girl scrambled backwards, shaking her head back and forth violently. She backed herself right into a wall, fear shining from her eyes. Clint stopped; she clearly was still scared from her encounter. "I'm not going to hurt you. Come on, please, you're bleeding, let me take a look."

* * *

"And?" Pepper asked slowly, eyebrows scrunched together, like she was a bit concerned about Clint's sanity.

_:How long did I pause and space out? _Clint shook his head. "Sorry. Where was I? Yeah, I stopped at this pizza place to get lunch about a week ago, and I heard someone digging through the garbage in the alley. It was Hailey—she's definitely been living on the streets, don't know for how long—anyways, she's looking for scraps of pizza in the trash cans. I tried to approach her, but she ran, so I left her the last half of my pizza.

"Then I stopped there again today. I heard screaming coming from the alley, and I ran in and found three lowlifes trying to rape her. I subdued them all, but not before one sliced her open while she trying to run away."

Clint started feeling angry, seeing red, just telling them the abridged version. :_If I ever find those three again, I_ will _finish what I started._

Pepper and Tony stared at him, aghast, though they seemed to buy there was nothing more to the story. _:Good._

Silence descended over them. So when the door leading to the "operating room" slid open, Clint was the only one who didn't jump out of his skin. It was Dr. Reynolds.

"Anyone in here with the blood type O-negative?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: The Avengers belongs to Marvel Comics/Disney.**

**Author's Note: **I'm sorry that this update took so long. I had work/family obligations, but hopefully everything is back on track now. And I have a good portion of Chapter Four written, so the next update should be soon. And I'm interested to see if anyone will start guessing what "Hailey's" secret is. I've been dropping hints, but I kinda hope that no one will figure it out until it is officially revealed.

And on another note, thank you to everyone who placed this story in their Favorites or Story Alerts. I was and still am amazed at how many people did that. And I'd love if more people would leave a review; what you liked, what you didn't like, any suggestions. Anything would be much appreciated.

I'll always try to respond to some of the reviews, particularly if you leave a suggestion or critique.

Beloved Daughter: You bet right ;)

darkangel42264: I don't picture Clint saying "Hon" either. Neither does he. That's why he was "hoping" that would be comforting. Lol, at this point in time, he really has no idea what he's doing in terms of relating to a child. But thank you, I probably should've explained that more.

Also, I hope no one gets confused by my slight formatting change; this website doesn't like how I normally signify passing time/flashbacks, so I'm trying to do it a little different. Flashbacks are going to be in all italics.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

"Anyone in here with the blood type O-negative?"

The three of them exchanged glances; Pepper shook her head, looking sad. "I'm O-positive."

"AB-positive," Tony stated with a shrug of his shoulders. "Sorry."

_:Of course, the rarest blood type. He _would_ be AB+. _Clint cleared his throat as he moved toward the door, "I do."

The doctor had a considerable and unnerving amount of blood splatter over the surgical gown and face mask he must've put on after they left the room. "She's gone through the two units I brought with me, but she still needs one, possibly two more."

Clint nodded his understanding. "Where do you need me?"

He motioned Clint into the main room. "Dr. Banner is going to handle the blood. I still have suture her skin and top muscle wall, which will take a while, but I've gotten the bleeding under control for the most part," Dr. Reynolds answered. "I just wanted to give everyone a quick update though."

Clint slipped through the open door, which slid closed behind him. The splash of blue surgical drapes grabbed his attention; all he could see of Hailey was her exposed abdomen. A 3D computer projection near the head of the bed showed her vital signs: BP, 90/45; HR, 58; O2, 91%. _:Heart rate and blood pressure are low but stable. Better than I'd hoped. _Across the room, Bruce Banner was at the sink behind the bar washing his hands and arms. Clint made his way to him, veering around Hailey, not wanting to contaminate anything.

"You're O-neg?" Dr. Banner asked, his tone matter-of-fact.

Clint nodded assent. _:Not the first time I've had to donate blood to someone who's life depended on it either. _

"Good. I'm O-negative too, but I'm not exactly…qualified…to donate blood," Banner said with a grimace. "I don't think she'd appreciate the Other Guy saving her."

Clint didn't really know what to say to that. From the little Nat had told him of the day he and Loki's other drones had attacked the helicarrier, he _never_ wanted to meet Banner when he had morphed involuntarily into the Hulk. It seemed when the scientist changed willingly, the Hulk was under a little more control. That being said, Clint didn't think anyone in their right mind would ever desire Bruce Banner's predicament, no matter the cost.

Bruce seemed to sense Clint's unease about the topic, so, with a sad smile, he gestured Clint to follow him to the elevator. "We're going to go down to the lab. Tony has equipment there for the blood draw and a centrifuge to spin out the RBCs."

"Doesn't she need whole blood? I mean, she didn't just lose red blood cells."

"Technically, yes, but transfusing whole blood is an outdated practice. The RBCs are the most important part for her right now; she needs oxygen carriers desperately. Dr. Reynolds will run tests on her over the next couple of days to make sure she doesn't need platelets, or plasma, but the packed red blood cells can't wait."

They reached the elevator, and the doors reacted to their presence by whooshing open; both of them stepped inside, and Banner pressed the button for the fifteenth floor.

"That should do it. You just need to stay sitting for a few more minutes. Oh, and drink this juice too," Dr. Banner said, setting an apple juice box on the arm of the chair Clint was sitting in. Then—holding up the bag of blood—he explained, "I'm going to run this up to Dr. Reynolds."

Banner moved for the door leading out of the lab to the elevator, but stopped abruptly. He cast a skeptical glance back at Clint, no doubt remembering Clint's refusal to stay out of the battle of Manhattan, despite having been brainwashed and concussed several hours prior to the start of the fight. "You are going to stay there, right?"

"Yes, I'll stay put. Go deliver the blood," Clint promised, holding back an eye roll.

Banner took his word on it and bolted out the door.

Clint sighed and looked at his arm. Bruce had been surprisingly adept at venipuncture, and even gotten a vein on the first try; not that he was a hard stick, but still. _:I've had worse needlesticks from nurses who supposedly did them their entire careers. _

Sudden beeping from behind him had Clint craning his neck to see where it was coming from. A computer screen was flashing a message, something about 'STARK T1 complete'. Clint turned back around and relaxed in the chair, hoping the alarm would turn off by itself. Three minutes, twenty-seven later, it was still sounding. Annoyed, Clint muttered, "Will you shut up?"

And the beeping ceased. _:The hell?_ Clint twisted around to look at the screen again. The message was still blinking on the screen, but the word 'mute' was now present in the bottom left corner, in a blue font. _:Huh. _

As he settled back into the chair (again), he reached for the juice box, ripping the straw off the back. Clint took the straw out of the plastic wrap and punched it through the foil on top of the juice box. Two gulps and it was finished. _:Don't think I've even had a juice box before. Wonder who even drinks them here. It's not like they have little kids around._

That jolted his brain back to the present, and Clint couldn't help thinking about the girl a few floors above him. _:Who is she? I need to find out if she was telling me the truth or not, about having no family._ And there was one person he could trust more than anyone to do a confidential, thorough search.

"Hey." Natasha answered on the second ring, sounding chipper—her meeting with Director Fury must have gone well.

"Tasha, I need a favor, are you at headquarters?" Clint asked, a little nervous about what she was going to think of all of this.

"Well, kind of. Headquarters is currently the helicarrier, until the base can be rebuilt, Anyways, I'm running a weapons training session starting in about twenty minutes, but I'm free right now. What do you need?"

Clint could hear metallic clicks in the background: Natasha disassembling and reassembling her gun. He smiled; that was her tick, what she did when she was bored. "It might take you a bit longer than twenty minutes. I need anything you can find on a girl, first name: Hailey. Approximately 5'3", dark brown hair, green eyes, very slender build. Somewhere between 13-15 years old. Possible physical abuse sometime in her past. Also, she claims to have no family. So start with missing person reports in New York, but if you don't get any hits, spread out the search. The foster-care system is a possibility too."

There was one last audible click: a bullet being racked into the chamber of the gun. "Barton, that isn't much to go on. Not even a last name? She a target? Or are you shadowing her? You gotta give more than that."

He winced, when Natasha asked if Hailey was a target. "No, no, she's not a target. I'm trying to find her parents or guardian, if she has any…I…well…she was living on the streets, and I barely got her out of a bad situation. So I have her here…at Stark Tower. She's currently unconscious and in surgery, so that's all the information I have. I'll send you a picture of her as soon as the doctors finish up on her."

Silence on the other end. _:And I know _exactly_ what's going on in her head. She's trying to figure out if I've been mentally compromised. Again._ Clint was scaring her, and he knew it; he just didn't know how to stop.

"Did I cognitively recalibrate you too hard?" she joked, though there was little humor in her voice. From over a thousand miles away, Clint could almost hear his partner's mental wheels turning, trying to figure out her plan of action for him.

"I'm not trying to freak you out Nat, this one's just hard to explain, especially over the phone. Just trust me okay? When you're back in New York I'll tell you everything," Clint said, feeling like crap for not having told her sooner, when he had plenty of opportunity.

"Ok." Shuffling noises in the background preceded a subdued, "I trust you."

_:And that's the closest she'll probably ever come to saying that she cares for me. That's her "I love you"._ And because he knew that, it worked between them. "Thank you."

"Give me a few hours to finish the training with the greenies and to get to a computer. I'll call you back."

* * *

It was four and a half rather perturbing hours before Natasha rang back. Clint was hoping for good news.

"I got the picture you sent. I'm not finding any missing persons or children cases that match though. There were a few possibles, but that was when I had widened the search to include the entire continental United States. None of the girls looked like her though, but I still ran a facial recognition software to compare her picture to theirs', just in case. So unless she's had major reconstruction surgery, none of them are her." Natasha's voice was all business, accompanying the clacking sound of her deft fingers on the keyboard. "I'm checking into foster systems via the Children's Bureau, but I'm going to have run that search state by state—starting with New York."

Clint sighed. _:I was afraid of that. _"But that still means she's never been reported missing. Isn't that odd?"

Hesitation. "I can think of a few scenarios where she wouldn't be. They're not all that pleasant."

"I've probably thought of them. But what are you thinking Nat?"

"One: something happened to her family, and now there is no one to report her missing. This is especially possible if they lived in an isolated, rural area. Though I can't imagine why she'd wind up in the middle of Manhattan if that were the case. Two: she ran away from an abusive situation, and her family or guardians don't want to report her missing because she would have some interesting stories to tell when she was found. That means they are trying to track her down themselves, or just don't care and have abandoned her. The third is that she was disowned by her family for some reason, and she took to living in the streets."

Clint grimaced. "I was thinking along the same lines."

"And she could be lying about her name too I guess," Clint pondered out loud.

"Already thought of that. All the searches I've been running haven't used a name. I've been using various combinations of gender, age, height, and eye color. I'm hoping she was or is a foster child, since a missing person report hasn't been filed on her, because otherwise it's going to be really difficult to find out who she is…if not impossible."

"Have you tried Canada?"

"That's next after I check all of the New England states' foster system records. It might take me a little longer to crack that."

"Good thing you know French."

Clint could hear her grin through the phone. "Yep."

"Alright, I'll let you go. You'll call if you find anything?"

"Of course. If I don't find anything before the training starts, I'll call you later tonight ястреб (hawk)."

"Bye my паук (spider)."

There was an unladylike snort of derision before the line went dead. Clint smiled at her reaction, but it quickly left it his face. He was sitting in the guest suite where Tony and Pepper had offered to let him stay. At first he declined since all of his things were at the hotel where he and Natasha had been staying post-battle, but Pepper waved off his words and told him that they'd have Happy pick everything up. Clint had been a bit uneasy at first—some of his weapons were there—but decided if this Happy was employed by Stark, that he was probably trustworthy.

The final deciding factor had been Hailey; after what had happened with her when she came out of surgery, Clint was extremely leery of getting too far away, lest the event reoccur. If he hadn't been so worried about her hurting herself, he would've been freaking the f*ck out.

_:_Never_ seen someone go crazy like that. _

* * *

_Clint had been a good boy and waited for Banner to come back down and tell him he was clear to get up and move. It had privately amused Clint; there had been several missions where he'd lost more than a unit of blood and had carried on through until the completion. Donating blood wasn't going to slow him down or make him faint. _:I'd have been laughing stock of SHIELD years ago if that were the case.

_It was about forty-five minutes before Bruce had gotten back down to the lab, but Clint hadn't minded._ :Better than having to wait it out with Stark and Pepper watching my every move.

_"How is she?" Clint asked, before Banner had made it through the door. He noted that the doctor had changed into clean jeans and t-shirt with the NASA logo on it._

_Several emotions flickered across Dr. Banner's face before he responded, "Dr. Reynolds says he is 'guardedly optimistic'. He's sown her muscles back together, so the main worries now are infection and any residual effects from the blood loss. But he's stopped the sedation he gave her for the surgery, so sometime in the next hour, she should be waking up."_

_Clint shifted off the chair and onto his feet in one swift movement, striking out for the door, pleased that he didn't get even the slightest whir of dizziness despite having been seated for nearly an hour and being down a unit of blood. Banner's eyebrows rose in mild surprise, but he made no comment. They walked out together to the elevator, where they were promptly shot up to the main floor._

_Stepping out, Clint observed that the "operating room" was gone. The room smelled heavily of bleach and there were two full, bright red, biohazard garbage bags tied up and set off to the side. The sheets on the bed were clean, so no doubt, the old, bloody ones were taking up the majority of the space in the bags, along with the surgical drapes. Dr. Reynolds was standing off to the side, at the bar, talking with Tony, who was pouring himself a drink. Pepper was standing next to the bed, a concerned expression on her face._

_He made his way to the bed, aware that Dr. Banner had split off from him and was headed towards the bar. Pepper glanced up at his approach and flashed a brief smile at him as a greeting. Clint inclined his head at her, though quickly transferred his attention to Hailey._

_Thankfully, her pallor wasn't nearly as ghastly as before. She was still pale, but not like she was on the brink of death. Those crazy brown ringlets that reminded him of Natasha's hair before she cut it were still a tangled, dirty mess, but that wouldn't change until she could get bath or shower. Someone had wiped off her thin, gaunt face and now Clint could see that Hailey had a smattering of freckles across her cheeks, making her appear even younger. Long, full lashes framed her closed eyes, but the dark, bruise-colored rings that lingered beneath them were out of place on her currently peaceful, innocent face._

:She shouldn't have those. She shouldn't be haunted at her age._ A nagging voice told Clint that he'd been haunted by memories that young too. He pushed them away. _:Don't need to think of that now.

_Over all, she was cute, and in a few years, when she filled out and gained some necessary weight, she'd be a beauty. _:Between those green eyes and her long, curly hair, she'll droves of boys chasing after her.

_Clint was broken out of reverie by the approach of Dr. Reynolds, who came to a halt at his side. The doctor spoke softly, sounding a little tired, "I think she's going to be okay. It'll be a slow recovery because of the extensive muscle damage, but she's young, so she should bounce back. I started her on some IV antibiotics, to try to prevent any infection."_

_Clint nodded, following along, and Dr. Reynolds continued. "At this point in time my biggest concern is her weight. She needs another twenty pounds minimum. I want a nutritionist to consult on her, get her set up with a meal plan to gain it back slowly. You found her on the streets?"_

_"Yes, eating out of trash cans," Clint replied, with a hint of disgust in his voice. Not at Hailey, but at whatever had forced a young girl to be living off other peoples' garbage._

_"Hmm…there is a possibility she's anorexic, but we'll have to see once she wakes up. Have you tried to locate family?" Dr. Reynolds pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose as he looked Clint in the face._

_"Yeah, I have someone working on that now, but I'm not sure if anything's going to come up. Hailey told me that she didn't 'have anyone'." _:I hope Tasha finds something.

_"I'm hurt." Tony's voice broke in mockingly as he strutted over from the bar. "Who did you ask to run a search that isn't me?"_

_"Agent Romanoff." Clint turned around and faced toward Stark._

_"Ah…That one. The triple agent." Out of the corner of his eyes, Clint saw Pepper roll her eyes at this, but a smile still tugged at the corners of her mouth._

_"Yes, she's at SHIELD headquarters now and has access to their computer system. She should be getting back to me in a few hours."_

_Tony smirked, "Legolas, you know I break into SHIELD files to piss off Fury on a regular basis, right? If it's in cyberspace or on a hard-drive, I can find it. Give me the info, and I guarantee, I'll beat your little Widow to the punch."_

:He'd never beat Natasha to the punch in a real fight_, Clint thought, holding back a laugh. _:However, it can't hurt to have the genius looking into it either. See what both of them turn up. _He drew in a deep breath and responded to Tony with: "That'd be great. Search missing person reports in the New England area and the foster-care system for a girl, 13-15 years old, green eyes, 5'3" tall, and possible abuse in the past. First name possibly Hailey."_

_Tony seemed taken aback a little at Clint's swift agreement, but he nodded and stepped away, bringing up computer screen projections from the table next to where he stood. He began talking (_:To himself?_) and rapidly moving through different screens._

_And that's when that wild, _feral_, blood-curdling scream started._


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Clint Barton and The Avengers belong to Marvel Comics/Disney.**

**Author's Note: **Thank you all who've subscribed or added this story to their favorites after last chapter. It's so exciting for me that people are enjoying it! And thank you to those who review, they make my day. I'm noticing that my story is including more Blackhawk/Clintasha than I originally imagined, but that's how the story is running in my head, so I'm going with it. But don't worry, Natasha isn't about to be flooded with an abundance of maternal urges. This is still a father/daughter story between Clint and Hailey.

Kaleigh: Best. Compliment. Ever. Thank you so much and I hope that I can live up to that praise. And thank you for the suggestion on the dialogue. That is my weak area and I'm hoping this chapter shows some improvement with that (there's a LOT of dialogue)

Bethanlovesoned: Lol, I think everyone with a pulse is in love with Jeremy Renner. Especially Scarlett Johansson, but that's a story for another time. Thanks for the review!

Also, side-note, but definitely important: do I have any Russian readers, or someone who is semi-fluent in Russian? If so, please, please, please PM me. I'd really love to know that the translations I'm putting into my story are accurate. I do my best, but alas, I don't speak a lick of Russian.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

And that's when that wild, _feral_, blood-curdling scream started.

Clint's attention jerked back to the hospital bed. Hailey was sitting up in the bed, trying to scramble away from Dr. Reynolds, who had hold of her arm, apparently checking her IV. The vital signs monitor went berserk with beeping. Hailey started clawing with her free hand at Dr. Reynolds, still screaming. The surgeon was yelling, telling her that she was going to rip the stitches, and Pepper rushed forward and placed her hands on Hailey's shoulders, to push her back down onto the bed.

The screaming raised several octaves at this, and the expression in Hailey's blazing green eyes was completely mad. She started kicking, thrusting herself backwards, then tearing at the IV line in her arm, ripping it out. All the while, she was trying to cover her head with her now free arms.

Clint jumped into the fray and shoved Pepper to the side, who staggered back several steps, stunned. Dr. Reynolds was still trying to grab hold of Hailey, even though she'd already caught him across the face, drawing a thin line of blood down his cheek.

"Back up," Clint ordered, and the surgeon dropped back, raising a hand to his cheek, confirming the presence of blood.

Without thinking, Clint grabbed hold of Hailey's thin wrists, pulled them away from her head, and yelled, "HEY!" She fought him blindly, still screaming incoherently like a creature possessed, so he bellowed again, "HEEYY!"

Hailey froze and looked at him in the eyes, breathing heavily. Her pupils were dilated so much that he could barely see the green irises now; there was such panic in her eyes that it nearly overwhelmed him, but he shook it off. _:Gotta keep calm, or she'll freak out again. Breathe Barton, breathe._

Then she started shaking like a leaf; Clint wasn't sure if it was out of pain or fear, so softer now, he murmured, "You're okay. We're not going to hurt you. You just had surgery. You gotta stay still, okay? Relax. Please. No one's going to hurt you. I promise." He paused for a moment before continuing his mantra, "You gotta rest. Okay? Can you do that? It's okay. No one will hurt you."

After several ragged inhalations, Hailey slowly leaned back into the bed, never breaking eye contact with Clint, trembling from head to toe. In his peripheral vision, he saw Dr. Reynolds handing him a syringe filled with a translucent yellow liquid. Clint cautiously released one of Hailey's skinny wrists and took it, never looking away from the girl. He held the syringe up in front of her. "This is going to help you relax, okay? Help you sleep. I'm going to inject it into the IV in your left arm, alright? Try not to move."

She was silent, but didn't give any signs of refusal. Clint reached deliberately for her arm, found the port, attached the syringe tip to it, and slowly pushed the medicine into her bloodstream. He waited, watching her, until her eyes started to flutter, and then close. The beeping from the vital signs monitor resumed a normal pace.

Clint breathed deeply—it felt like his first in hours.

"_What…was that_?" Clint looked up at the new voice. Captain America, or rather, Steve Rogers, stood in front of the elevator, wearing a gray sweat-suit that he'd apparently been working out in, judging by the dampness. The tall, blonde soldier looked a bit shell-shocked; well, for that matter, so did everyone else in room. Dr. Banner was missing (_:Too much emotion for him to handle?_), but Tony and Pepper were sporting similar expressions of shock, bordering on terror, along with Dr. Reynolds.

"Reaction to anesthesia?" Clint attempted half-heartedly. _:Not even close._

Dr. Reynolds shook his head, shaking off the shock. "She wasn't under anesthesia for surgery. I gave her moderately strong sedative, since she was already unconscious. And _that_, that is not a reaction from the medicine."

"Is that what you had me give her just now?" Clint queried.

The doctor nodded tiredly before explaining, "Yes, but a smaller dose than for the surgery. In fact, I'm thinking I want to keep her on it until I can remove the stitches in five to seven days. But she's going to need nutrition during that time. I'll have to get a nasogastric tube from the hospital to start her on some tube feeding formula."

Frowning, Clint challenged, "Is that safe? To keep her sedated for that long?"

"Much safer than her ripping open her insides again," Dr. Reynolds retorted. "She's quite resilient, but I wouldn't want to put her through another surgery, especially in her condition. And I'll titrate the dose down some more, over the next couple of days to wean her off it. And honestly, if she has an eating disorder of any kind, this will be the best way to get some weight on her without her fighting us."

_:I don't like it, but he's right. Hailey might not pull through a second surgery. We'll be lucky if she didn't do any damage just now. _Looking back at the doctor, he remarked, "You should take a look at that scratch. There's blood dripping onto your scrubs." Duly reminded, Dr. Reynolds held his hand up to his face again, applying some pressure this time, and made his way from the group, searching out a bathroom with a mirror, no doubt.

From across the room, Steve Rogers demanded, "Is anyone going to tell me what's going on?"

Pepper, taking pity on him, walked over to him and took his arm as she led him away, to explain.

"I better check on Banner," Tony announced. He paced toward the elevator, then cast a glance at his Iron Man armory. He hesitated for a moment, but apparently decided against going as a mere mortal. After a few words—with the wall—Stark was suiting up.

:_Don't blame him. I just hope for everyone's sake Banner didn't Hulk out._ Focus returned to Hailey, he watched her chest rise and fall steadily before glancing around. He located his object of desire—a chair—and drug it over to the hospital bed. Clint took a seat and started his vigil. He closed his eyes to rest them, but all of his other senses were tuned in to Hailey.

He heard some of the others return—they left him alone—except for Dr. Reynolds who came over to leave some medication with him to give to Hailey during the night. Clint opened his eyes to speak with the doctor and thank him graciously for his work and receive instructions for Hailey's care until the next day, but closed his eyes again after the doctor made a timely exit.

After an hour, Clint heard the light, hesitant steps of Pepper walking toward him, and his eyes flashed open. Her brows rose briefly in surprise at his quick reaction, but she quickly recovered with a smile. "I'm not sure what your accommodations have been, but we have a guest suite for you to stay in. It's the next floor up—we know you'll want to be near tonight."

"I have a hotel room," Clint protested, but faltered. _:I do want to be here tonight. _

Sensing his hesitation, Pepper responded, "Are your things there? Don't worry, just give me the hotel key and they can be brought here."

Another glimpse at Hailey's pale, prone form decided it. _:She looks so weak. _Clint reached into his pocket and pulled out his hotel key. Pepper seized it, smiling triumphantly, before spinning on heel and disappearing from the room.

* * *

Clint had trouble sleeping that night, and subsequently, was up every few hours to slip downstairs to check on Hailey. There were no changes; her vital signs remained stable, and she gave no signs of fighting the sedation. Dr. Reynolds had left three syringes by her bed, to be given every four hours, and Clint had taken on that responsibility without a fuss. The doctor had promised to come by in the morning before he went into work, so Clint found himself snapping into wakefulness at around six o'clock, not wanting to miss Dr. Reynolds' visit. He rolled out of bed, threw on a clean t-shirt from his duffel bag, then made his way to the elevator to go down to the main floor, all the while in deep thought.

It turned out that Banner had kept a lid on his anger; Stark had found him in the lab, running an experiment to divide his attention. And after Pepper had explained the day's happenings to Steve, he'd offered to help keep watch over Hailey during the night, since he didn't need much in the way of sleep. Clint had accepted his genial offer, though couldn't bring himself to completely relinquish his watch over the girl.

Clint felt fiercely protective of Hailey. Anyone who wanted to try to hurt her now would have to go through him. It scared him a bit, this overwhelming sensation; normally he kept a fairly tight rein over his emotions—in his line of work, he had to. Assassins can't afford to go soft, just because a target looks sweet and vulnerable. That's exactly how you get yourself hurt or worse on a mission.

His mind flickered over to another time he'd gone soft. Clint had been half-afraid that the slim, red-headed woman would try to throttle him with her bare hands after he'd gotten the jump on her, disarming her of her two guns—the Black Widow had a reputation that preceded her. Those emerald green eyes had bored into his, making it feel like she could see directly into his soul. Gun in hand, at point-blank range, Clint stared right back her, trying to think of ice and cold places, like always. And he couldn't do it.

Of course he rationalized it. A spy and assassin of her caliber would be an asset to SHIELD. If SHIELD spared her life, she would be eternally in debt to them. Imagine the damage she could do on the bad guys if she was on their team. _:Of course, that had _nothing_ to do with why I didn't pull the trigger. _

When Natasha Romanoff had stared down the barrel of his gun unflinchingly, all Clint had seen was a twenty-something (at least she _looked_ twenty-something), absolutely beautiful woman with tousled red curls and vivid green eyes, wearing a black evening dress that was slit up the side on one leg. A twenty-something year old woman who was fully prepared to die.

With a carefully delivered skull tap, he'd knocked the Black Widow unconscious, and slung her over his shoulder, to make a hasty exit from the building. One nerve-racking hour later, Clint was on board the SHIELD aircraft bound for the United States, with one Natasha Romanoff handcuffed to and sleeping on a bench seat, without ever fully examining his reasoning for his flagrant disregard of some very direct orders. _:_That_ was a fun call to Coulson._

Clint never regretted his inaction that day. He'd put up with scut duty for months from Fury, who'd aptly lived up to his name in that particular case, but he got something he'd never had before, hadn't expected either. After the Black Widow accepted SHIELD's offer of employment and finished initial training, Clint, for the first time, had a partner. The Hawk and the Spider: his specialty had always been distance hits and protection details, whereas Natasha was the epitome of the secret agent—she could effectively merge herself into any situation, spoke nearly ten languages, and reveled in working undercover.

They were the perfect team. Partners in every sense of the word, though not in the beginning, of course. Clint had her back when Natasha worked undercover, and she cultivated the intel for him to make his hits when necessary.

_:And so I have my best friend, because I went soft. Can't be all bad, _Clint told himself, trying to rationalize his feelings toward Hailey. But aside from slightly similar looks, plus a complete acceptance of death, that was where similarities between Hailey and Natasha ended. Natasha had exuded strength and confidence that Clint wouldn't, _couldn't_, contemplate snuffing out, no matter what his orders; Hailey, on the other hand, was so fragile and defenseless, all he wanted to do was shield her from the world.

By this time, however, Clint had to snap out of his trance; apparently he wasn't the only early bird. Pepper was sipping on a cup of what looked and smelled like an herbal tea, gazing out the picture windows, a distant look in her eyes. Steve was sprawled on one of the couches, flipping through a magazine on outdoor sports.

The resident super soldier called out a greeting to Clint, who responded in kind. Pepper turned, hearing this, and added her cheerful, "Good morning."

"Morning Ms. Potts," Clint replied as he paced over to Hailey's bed.

Steve murmured softly, "No changes since the last time you were down here."

"Good," Clint acknowledged, checking Hailey over with a careful eye. A little more color graced her bony cheeks, and he was almost certain the purple rings beneath her eyes had faded an infinitesimal amount. Her vitals were good—not running as low as yesterday either.

"Agent Barton? Dr. Reynolds called about five minutes ago. He said he'd be here in about twenty minutes," Pepper mentioned as she ambled over, clutching her tea mug tightly.

Clint glanced up, with a smile ghosting his lips at her formalness, "You can call me Clint."

"And you can call me Pepper."

He smiled in full at this. "Fair enough." Pepper grinned back at him.

A snarky voice cut in, "Good grief, why is everything smiling this early in the morning?"

_:Stark. _Clint was ready to fire back a clever retort, but Steve seized the opportunity.

"Wow, I didn't even think you existed at this hour. Maybe it's just a figment of my imagination."

"No, because if you were imagining this, _you_ would be wearing a spangly suit, and _I_ would have no comeback. Which is, quite frankly, impossible. Well, at the least, the part about me not having a comeback. I know you have a thing for spangly suits."

Clint watched in amusement as Steve rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to make a counter, but Pepper intercepted the banter, providing an adequate distraction.

"Does anyone want breakfast?"

A chorus of responses answered her.

Tony, suspiciously, "What is it this time? You're not going to serve me whole grain bread again, are you?"

Bruce Banner, who just walked into the room, "Breakfast sounds wonderful."

And Steve, "Yes, do you need any help?"

Pepper looked at Clint who shrugged his shoulders, but answered, "Yeah, that'd be good."

"Okay, let's see what's in the kitchen. And Steve, sure, help would be great," Pepper remarked as she moved to the elevator, Steve following.

Dr. Reynolds had shooed everyone, but Clint out when he arrived. He'd checked over Hailey, professing his admiration at how well she'd rebounded over night. The surgeon had also brought a nasogastric tube, which he promptly inserted, so Hailey could be tube fed a formula that would help her to gain weight and receive nutrition while she was sedated.

That had grossed Clint out a bit, though he was careful to not show it. Having a tube stuck through your nose didn't look like it felt pleasant and he was glad Hailey was unconscious for it. _:Plus that formula looks disgusting._

But before he knew it, Dr. Reynolds was done with his exam, and on his way to his post at the hospital. Clint went and retrieved the rest of the team from the kitchen where Pepper and Steve had just finishing toasting enough English muffins for a small army.

Steve lead the way back to the main floor, carrying a platter loaded down with the English muffins. Pepper had a pitcher of water and a stack of cups, Bruce was in charge of the condiments: butter, jelly, peanut butter, honey, and Tony had been delegated to silverware and napkins. Clint followed along behind them, chuckling softly at the amusing picture they made.

Back on the main floor, they all settled down to breakfast, with witty banter passing around faster than the food. Until Tony's custom cell phone started ringing.

"Director Fury is on the line sir," the artificial intelligence voice that Clint now knew to be JARVIS said, interrupting the group's breakfast.

"Nobody's home!" Tony yelled through a mouth full of English muffin. "Tell him no one's here!"

"Actually sir, the call is for Agent Barton. And it seems he is aware that he is here at Stark Tower," JARVIS responded, sounding faintly apologetic.

"Does he know that because you told him?" Tony badgered.

"No, sir…Though I may have confirmed it."

"Christ! What was the point of the security blocks I put into this system if you're just going to override everything?" Tony sputtered. Turning to Clint, "So, Bird-boy, are you here, or not?"

Clint was intrigued actually. He had been reporting every day to his new handler, Agent Hill, in the interim after Phil Coulson's demise, though, really, there hadn't been much to report. As far as anyone could tell, all of the Chitauri were obliterated during the Battle of Manhattan. And he certainly hadn't made any mention of his new lodgings when he had called from a disposable cell phone last night. Clint nodded to Tony, who motioned him to a monitor on the far wall. He padded over and pressed the 'accept' button on the touch screen. Nick Fury's face popped up on the screen.

Fury nodded in greeting, examining Clint minutely with his good eye. Baffled, Clint broached the conversation with, "Hello sir. You called?"

"Yes, as of this moment, you are relieved of your scouting detail. Agent Barker will be taking over," Director Fury announced, naming a SHIELD agent that Clint had regularly wiped the floor with in training sessions back at base.

_:The hell? Why? Wait! If he assigns me to another mission…_

Continuing to eye Clint speculatively, Fury added, "As of right now, you are on leave indefinitely, until I receive word that you are…stable…and cleared by a SHIELD psychologist."

:_Huh? _Clint was bewildered; this certainly had come out of left-field. "Sir, I'm not sure I understand. I'm fine. Did I do something wrong?"

Fury sighed, "No Agent Barton, you didn't do anything wrong. You did more than enough actually—it was me. I never stopped to think you might not be okay after the Loki incident. You're one of my best agents, and I want you of sound mind, ready to work. So take some time."

"But I'm fine," Clint repeated, sounding like a broken record.

"Yeah, well, then get your 'fine' ass into some counseling and get back to work pronto," Fury retorted, now sounding like his normal self. "And I don't want to see or hear from you until then. And tell Stark that if I want to talk to him, I'm damn well going to talk to him. I don't care if he programs his security system to deny me entry—I _will_ find a way in."

Clint heard a vague, disgruntled protest from behind him—no doubt it was Stark. Neither he, nor Director Fury deemed it worthy of comment though, and Fury summarily disconnected the call.

Obviously, powers beyond his control were at work here. _:What the hell is going on? I've never needed cleared by a psychologist to work after a mission!_ Granted, having your mind controlled by a demi-god hell-bent on world domination wasn't exactly protocol, even by SHIELD standards. But Clint hadn't told anyone what had happened to him when the world went blue, except…

Clint's head snapped up at the flash of betrayal that flooded his body, and he pushed away from the wall, striding toward the elevator at a brisk pace. Whipping out his personal phone, he punched the first speed dial number on his list, and waited while it rang. Just as the elevator door opened, Natasha answered, "Hey Clint."

"Natalia Alessi Romanova—Какого черта ты ему сказал?" Clint demanded, stepping into the elevator and pressing the button for his floor. (What the hell did you tell him?)

There was silence on the line; Clint calling her by her given name had thrown her off. In fact, Clint was pretty sure she wasn't even aware that he knew her full, true name. He'd never mentioned it or called her by it before. Seconds ticked by and the elevator opened up to his guest suite before she recovered enough to fire back, in English, "What Barton? You actually mad at me?"

It was true. All their missions: fighting side by side, living together, sleeping together—he had never been truly mad at her. Slight annoyance, but he'd masked that, just to drive her crazy, since she got mad at him on a regular basis. It was one of the ways she showed she cared. Clint gritted his teeth, "I haven't decided Nat. Depends on your answer."

"Well, you sound kinda mad," Natasha replied smugly. At Clint's indignant snort, she continued, "Clint, why do you _think_ I told Fury that?"

"Because you think I'm mentally unhinged." Clint crossed across the main living area, making for the bedroom.

"My, don't we have our sensitive panties in a twist. If I actually thought that, I would've knocked you out and trussed you up until I could get you some help. Which you _would_ have realized if you'd stopped long enough to pull your head out of your ass for second."

Clint froze as he the words come from behind him, then echoed out from the phone. _:?_ He spun around to find Natasha standing next to the windows, eyeing him uncertainly. For the first time in memory, Clint wasn't struck by her beauty—rather—this time he was pissed. For her ratting him out to Fury, for making fun of him, and for sneaking up on him.

He hung up the phone, sliding it into his pocket, and crossed his arms in front of him. Took a deep breath. "You didn't tell me you'd be back so soon."

"Spur of the moment. I caught the red-eye out, so I could talk to you in person," Natasha said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Clint nodded, a frown pulling down the edges of his mouth. "So Fury knows you're here?"

She snorted, "I don't need Fury's permission. My partner needed help, so I came. And I was helping you, even though you can't see it yet."

Hesitantly, Natasha approached him. Clint made no move toward her, just stood solemnly with his arms crossed across his chest. She stopped about five feet away, then held out her hand. After a moment, Clint uncrossed his hands and clasped her outstretched hand. She pulled, leading him to the bedroom.

"Come on, let's talk ястреб (hawk)."

* * *

Clint had been sitting here for three hours now: Dr. Reynolds had stopped the sedative on Hailey earlier this morning when he stopped by on his way to the hospital, but she still hadn't woken up yet. The doctor didn't seem concerned when Clint had called him five minutes ago; his exact words: "She's severely malnourished. She probably needs the sleep. Leave her alone for now."

Hailey was now located in a guest suite above the main floor. Her hospital bed and accompanying equipment were in the living room of the suite; there were two bedrooms in the suite, one of which Clint was crashing for sleep in when he didn't nod off on the couch while keeping watch over Hailey.

It had been five days since the switchblade had sliced through Hailey's abdomen. Starting in the left lower quadrant, it had tore through her External oblique in to Internal oblique, then arced up and across, just below her navel, into her right upper quadrant, cutting partially through her Rectus abdominis in a diagonal line, then through the External oblique on her right side, ending just below her rib cage.

Dr. Reynolds had been able to stitch the muscles back together and stop the bleeding, but Hailey would always bear a scar from this: physical as well as probably several mental. He'd told Clint that it'd be at least a one month before she was up and active, possibly two because her malnutrition might hinder healing. He had set up her with a nasogastric tube, so they could give her food via the tube while she was kept sedated.

Right now the bag of feeding formula—a clear plastic bag holding a bland, brownish liquid—was halfway finished. :_Nasty looking stuff. _I'd_ want to be unconscious if someone was trying to give me that crap. _Anyhow, Clint had a feeling that Hailey was going to rip out the NG tube as soon as she woke up, but Dr. Reynolds had brushed him off when he mentioned it this morning. Clint had shrugged it off. _:Hope she doesn't hurt herself when she does it though._ He shifted on the couch, making himself comfortable, and closed his eyes to rest them. _:Just for a minute..._

Clint's eyes flashed open, though he remained motionless. He'd apparently fallen asleep, but something had awakened him. His eyes flicked over to the window; a few hours had passed, judging by the amount of sunlight filtering through. He then turned to his hearing, but there were no unusual sounds: the slight hiss of the AC vent in the ceiling and the rhythmic beeps of Hailey's vital signs monitor. _:Wait, that's it. Her heart rate's sped up._

He rolled off the couch, landing on his feet silently, and he padded over softly to stand near the bed. A quick glance at the monitor screen showed an increase in her respirations too. Clint looked back to Hailey; her breathes were shallower and though her eyes remained closed, she seemed more alert. Clint rested his hands on the siderail of the bed and asked, "Hailey, can you hear me?"

Hailey's nostrils flared once and her eyes fluttered open slowly. She took a quick inventory of her surroundings before locking her gaze on Clint. Suspicion leaked from her eyes. _:Same look she gave me when I tried to help her in the alley. _"Hey, do you remember who I am? Do you remember what happened?" Clint queried, trying to sound as nonthreatening as possible.

"Clint Barton. And yes, you…you stopped those guys…in the alley," Hailey replied softly, green eyes averted now. Then her eyes crossed for a moment, looking at her nose; she'd spotted the NG tube. She immediately reached up with both hands to her face—presumably to rip it out.

Clint moved to stop her, but remembered her aversion, so his left hand was left hovering mid-reach, and said, "Don't rip that out. Please. It's what's feeding you. Wait for the doctor to remove it later today."

_:Please listen. _He held his breath waiting to see if she would consider his words. Hailey tugged at the tape, then followed the tube up to where the formula bag was hung on an IV pole, along with a bag saline solution that dripped steadily into her left arm. She studied the set-up for a half a minute, then rolled her head back to face Clint. He realized his hand was still frozen over her, so he dropped it awkwardly back onto the siderail and lowered his gaze to the floor.

"You didn't take me to a hospital."

Clint swallowed and cleared his throat a bit, still staring at the floor, but met her gaze when he replied, "You asked me not to."

She frowned slightly, confused, "So where am I then?"

He smiled slightly, "Stark Tower."

Hailey's eyes widened, and she took another look at the room they were in. _:Well, this suite certainly looks the part. Still not sure _exactly_ what that panel in the wall is. _The panel Clint was talking about was a glowing blue, translucent screen that continually swirled with a spiraling pattern. When he'd touched it, the swirls disappeared and a blank screen popped up, then JARVIS's voice had asked him if required anything. Clint had hastily backed away. But as for furniture and decoration, the couches and chairs were all brand new, modern era pieces. The pieces of art adorning the walls were all modern too; and unless he was mistaken, all were originals and extremely valuable pieces. One of them he was certain about: it was valued at $1.2 million. _:If that's in the guest suite, imagine what's in Tony's personal rooms_.

Hailey tracked where Clint was looking around the suite, but only commented with, "Huh." That curiosity apparently satisfied, she began maneuvering the sheets and then lifted them to look at her heavily wrapped abdomen. The bindings were as much for protection of the cut as well as support for the muscles until they healed more. She murmured, "How bad?"

"The knife went through several muscle walls, but Dr. Reynolds was able to repair the damage, although, you ended up needing four units of blood. He says that you'll need at least a month or more recovery time though, until you're up and about."

She scrunched her nose up at the news. Clint felt a half-smile play across his lips at that small, childish reaction. _:First thing she's done that's been remotely her age. Speaking of which…_

"Hailey, were you telling the truth, when you said you had no family? Because you've been here for five days and if you do have a family, they're probably worried sick," Clint asked, hoping the girl would tell him the truth.

Her face fell into shadows, and she answered flatly, "My parents are dead. So are my grandparents. My parents were both only children. I have no family."

That pulled at his heartstrings. He'd been there too, but at least—for however short of a time—he had a brother to go through it with. Clint grimaced, "I'm really sorry to hear that. So, did that happen recently? I mean, how long have you been living on the streets?"

Hailey frowned, a line forming between her eyebrows as she thought. As time passed, Clint started to worry that she wasn't going to answer him, but finally she asked, "What's the date?"

"May 20th."

"About a month then."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Hailey shook her head, eyes glistening with unformed tears. She didn't let a single one get away though. It took a minute, but her steely gaze returned to Clint's face, no evidence of tears on her face.

Trying again, Clint said, "I tried to find out who you were. Missing person reports, the foster care system, but no matches turned up." Hailey's eyes widened in fright, but her mouth was clamped shut. He continued, "I find it hard to believe that no one realized what happened to you. So can you tell me why that is? Why you don't show up anywhere?"

The girl broke eye contact and decided now was an excellent time to stare at the ceiling. _:Perfect._

Clint was stumped. Despite his initial thoughts about what kind of parents she had, he'd hoped that Hailey did have a family out there, somewhere, desperate to have her back. Because the alternative meant that she was a homeless teen with no one to turn to, and if she didn't want his or anyone else's help, he really couldn't do anything to force her. Sure, he could report her to Child Protective Services, but that would just make her another ward of the state, if she didn't disappear from their care too.

But just as importantly, he wasn't equipped to help her, not really. _:I'm a f*cking assassin. I never know if I'm going to come home from a mission, let alone where I'm going to be sent on a daily basis. How do you explain that to a girl who's already lost the family she had? It's not even fair to her. _That was the main reason the word 'family' was off-limits between him and Natasha. They never allowed themselves to think of that as a possibility, even if either of them had wanted kids, because well, _:How could we?_ Injury and death were part of the job description, along with having to pick up and leave at any given moment, never really knowing how long it would be until you returned—if you returned. Plus, both Hawkeye and Black Widow had enemies the world over; a child of theirs would have a huge target painted on his or her back. It wasn't fair to do that to a child.

_:What am I going to do with her?_


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the wait. This chapter didn't come together as easily as the others (and somehow ended up being nearly 7,000 words. Whoops!), but here it is.

And again, if I have any Russian readers/speakers, I'd love to talk to you! I have plans for including a little more Russian in upcoming chapters, and I'd really like to be sure that I'm using correct grammar/words.

And once again, thank you to those that review. They make my day! (And so do the people who favorite and sign up for story/author alerts)

And without further ado…

* * *

**Chapter Five **

Hailey was an enigma.

Neither Stark nor Natasha could find her. _Anywhere_. Natasha had resorted to searching through hospital birth certificates in her spare time, but that was a search that could take months, based on the very loose parameters they had. Clint had seen undercover spies that left more traces than Hailey. It was effectively like she'd never existed.

So after the first couple of days of Hailey being awake, the archer came to accept that he might not find out where Hailey had come from, until she decided to tell him, because he'd never found someone whose existence had been so carefully hidden. _:Or erased._ But Clint made an effort to learn anything else about her that she'd tell him or what her actions revealed during her first month and a half at Stark Tower.

Once he realized that Hailey would go into lockdown mode at any mention of her past, Clint avoided it, hoping that eventually she would trust him enough with her secrets. And slowly, she began to reveal little pieces of herself.

She was thirteen years old, due to turn fourteen September 25th. Her favorite color was light purple, she was terrified of going outside of the Tower, and she loved to draw. Once he'd seen her sketching and doodling on scraps of paper she'd dug out of Tony's office waste container, Clint went out and bought her a sketchbook, which never left her sight.

Another thing was that Hailey was very bright; her vocabulary was that of an adult, when he could get her speaking, and once she was able to get up and walk without assistance, no security code or locked door could keep her out. Stark eventually reprogrammed the Tower's security system to allow her access after she triggered several motion sensing alarms in the R&D labs—much to his surprise—since she had managed to get into the labs without setting off the initial alarms on the doors.

The girl was very quiet, would only speak when spoken too, and was nervous around people, though that gradually, ever so slowly, began to diminish. Clint knew that it would be a long time before she ever trusted anyone again, if she ever had in her short life, but she was usually found in his vicinity: a silent, unobtrusive shadow.

His fellow Avengers told him that when she wasn't following him, she could be found, spying on Tony from a distance when he was working on some of his experiments, sitting in the corner of the gym while Steve worked out, or lingering in Pepper's office while she ran Stark Industries. And when Natasha was back from a mission, Hailey would divide her time between following her and Clint, much to both of the assassins' amusement and sometimes Natasha's chagrin, since as she told Clint, she 'had no more idea what to say to a child then he knew how hack into a government database'. But they all, for the most part, ignored her presence, because if they acknowledged Hailey she would run away scared.

For some unfathomable reason, the only Avenger she seemed to actively avoid was Bruce Banner. Clint found that to be odd, since Dr. Banner was the alter-ego of 'the Other Guy' when in human form. The man's gentleness and compassion were a rare thing, and he really didn't understand why Hailey would be scared of him, especially since no one mentioned around her that he was the Hulk.

During that next month and a half, Hailey made a surprisingly speedy recovery, though she still was far underweight. Dr. Reynolds said it would take time for her to gain the weight back healthily, but the girl seemed reticent to eat full sized portions. That was Clint's main concern, aside from her obvious mental and emotional trauma. He tried everything he could think of to get her to eat.

At first Clint thought she was just a picky eater, but as time wore on, it became apparent that that wasn't the problem. Hailey would sit down and dig into her meal, only to stop halfway through, abruptly, never clearing a plate, refusing to eat one more bite, no matter how much any of the team pleaded or cajoled her. There had been one particularly memorable incident involving Hailey, Steve, and the discovery that Captain America's metabolism and stomach did have a limit, but that attempt had failed just like the others (though it had provided days of laughs for the other Avengers). She'd gained several pounds since he took her off the streets, but not nearly enough to be considered healthy. _:She eats enough to keep herself alive, and that's it._

Hailey also stubbornly refused to leave the Tower. Clint had wanted to take her out to get some clothes since the ones she'd come in with weren't even fit to be cleaning rags, but when he'd mentioned taking her shopping she'd freaked out, verging on hysteria. Clint had spent a half an hour trying to calm her down when he'd mentioned that and offers from Pepper to take her on a girls' day out later on only incited more panic.

Changing tactics, Clint brought Hailey a laptop and told her to pick out some clothes online, and he'd order them. Hailey had shrugged it off, saying that Natasha's old sweatpants and his t-shirt were just fine. He pressed her a little more, but she seemed really uncomfortable about it so Clint backed off. Best he could guess was that Hailey felt uneasy with him spending money on her.

_:Not that that's going stop me._

Several hours later, Clint staggered back into Stark Tower via the parking area under the weight of multiple shopping bags, much to Tony's amusement. (Clint could hear him sniggering as he tinkered with one of the Ducati motorcycles in the corner.) With an air of indifference, Clint waltzed past Stark to the elevator, but he knew it was no good—everyone in the Tower would know he'd come back loaded down with shopping bags like a pack mule by dinner-time. _:Oh well…_

And just as the elevator doors were beginning to open, Stark's smug voice reached his ears, "So is your man-card in one of those bags? Or did you just leave it at Victoria's Secret since you don't need it anymore?"

Clint rolled his neck from side to side, vertebrae cracking in each direction. The doors fully open, he stepped inside and turned around, setting a few bags on the floor to press the button for his floor. "So brave when Pepper isn't here to scold you. You sure you cleared that sentence with her first?"

Tony's face screwed up in displeasure and he opened his mouth to retort, but the elevator doors promptly shut, eliminating his chance for a comeback. Clint grinned, finally getting one in on Stark. _:Though that's going to make it so much worse tonight. He'll have had plenty of time to plan. _

* * *

Dinner wasn't as bad as Clint thought it would be. The only one who seemed to find it amusing that Clint had gone shopping for Hailey and come back burdened with more packages than Santa Claus was Stark. And attempts by Tony to poke fun had ended badly for him. Pepper gave him a scathing look when he had started in on Clint (before Hailey had come downstairs), Bruce was holed up in one of the labs for another hour, and Steve had simply shrugged when Tony had tried to get him to tease Clint too.

Which had made Clint feel pretty smug. That had only lasted a few minutes though; Hailey arrived wearing a new shirt with a panda bear on it. Steve had complimented her shirt, and Hailey had blushed and murmured a 'thank you'. Steve smiled at her, but had left it alone after that, sensing her discomfort, but Clint caught Hailey looking down at her shirt every few minutes during dinner, like she'd never had anything brand new in her life. _:Which might be the case._

Everyone gobbled down Steve's spaghetti and meatballs, with the exception of Hailey of course, who would only eat a small portion. Clint started to ask Hailey to eat a couple more bites, but when she looked up and met his gaze, he dropped it. She wore the most pleading face, and he honestly didn't want to fight her. He sighed and nodded when she asked to be excused.

After he helped the others clean up, Clint went up to his floor. Hailey was curled up on the couch, mechanical pencil in hand, drawing away. She didn't even glance up at his entrance. Clint walked over and sat down on the chair next to the couch. Hailey continued shading in on her drawing, the faint scratch of the pencil against the paper the only sound in the room.**  
**

Clint closed his eyes, relaxing into the surprisingly comfortable chair, thinking about his 'adventure' of the day.

_Armed with Natasha's rather unhelpful advice and with the vaguest idea of what teenage girls liked to wear, Clint entered a department store that wouldn't completely break the bank. _:Granted, I have plenty saved up in those off-shore accounts, but I don't want to have to touch those just yet._ He was a minimalist when it came to shopping for himself—usually he wore a SHIELD uniform or fighting gear—and his street clothes consisted of a couple of pairs of jeans, some sweatpants for working out, some t-shirts, and a jacket. If any of those got damaged or worn out, he would go to a store (it didn't matter which one) and be out within five minutes. But now he actually had to _think_ about shopping for clothes. _

_So Clint was standing in the juniors section, trying to estimate what size Hailey was, and was wondering if he'd be better off buying her children's clothes when he caught a glimpse of someone approaching him out of the corner of his eye._

_"Do you need help sir?" the store employee asked, walking over to him with a conquering gleam in her eyes, apparently liking what she saw. Clint sighed softly._

_She was an artificial, plastic pretty—unnatural, platinum blonde hair, too much make-up—and trying very hard, too hard. Good-looking underneath all that, but not his type, even if he was single. The woman's mildly toned muscles were from one of those fad exercise machines, not the hardened muscles of someone who depended on her strength and skill for survival._

_Clint arranged a tight smile on his face. "No, I'm just looking around, thanks."_

_"You sure sugar? You look kinda lost." The woman twirled a strand of hair around her finger as she leaned in closer to him, her eyes looking overlarge and bright the way she'd done her make-up, with her heavy perfume wafting up into Clint's nose._

_His forced smile almost slipped into a grimace, but he managed to hold it in place as he replied mildly, "No really, I'm fine."_

_No that _that _deterred her. Clint was going through the racks, trying to find some pairs of extra-small pants with the sales woman lingering at his side, chewing on a wad of bubble gum. Suddenly, she blew a bubble and popped it; the resulting sound nearly made Clint jump out of his skin: for a split second he thought it was a gunshot. Taking a ragged breath, Clint shot the woman a piercing look, while his new friend continued chewing, oblivious. She did notice his focus turning to her though and smiled. Fishing, Brianne (according to the nametag) purred, "Shopping for your wife?" _

_"Err…no…" Clint drawled. When Brianne's eyes flickered to his ring finger, then smiled in smug satisfaction at finding it unadorned, he knew he'd just sealed his fate. _:Damn-it…I shoulda lied.

_"Your daughter then?"_

:That'll work._ SHIELD training took over; that was the first thing you were taught after you passed the physical challenges: how to lie. Eye contact, but remember to blink. A smile—genuine—make them believe you. Lean toward the mark, just the slightest bit. Don't forget that smile. And most importantly, the best lies are based in truth. "Not yet, I'm in the process of adopting her. She's been with me and my partner for over a month now. There's just so much red tape in the adoption process." Big, theatrical sigh, then, "Hailey isn't big on shopping, so I'm here trying to figure out what she'd want."_

_Clint watched as a myriad of emotions flashed across Brianne's face: shock, disappointment, then finally resignation, though she hid the last behind a smile. _:Whew…

_"Well, congratulations."_

_He smiled and nodded, starting to turn back to the clothing rack, "Thanks." _

_"Please, let me help you pick something out. How old is she? What size does she wear? What's her style like? Come on, Tuesdays are really slow," Brianne was now apparently trying to win the customer service of the year award._

_:_Might as well let her. I have no idea what I'm doing, _Clint thought._

_"She's thirteen, but she's small for her age. About 5'3". And underweight skinny—she wasn't treated very well before._

_Brianne, now that he had been delegated to the 'friend zone', actually began to act the sharp business woman. She considered his words before asking another barrage of questions. "Is she leggy? Like she's going to have a growth spurt, or would you say she's close to her full height? And how much weight does she need to gain? Oh! And do you need any formal clothes, or just strictly casual-ware?" Brianne paused to draw in a breath, and Clint decided that might be his only chance to get in some answers to her questions._

_"Not leggy at all. If she gets any taller, it'd be an inch, max. And she needs about twenty pounds. And just casual for now," Clint answered._

_Waving him over to a rack nearby, she called back to him as they walked, "I'm going to suggest yoga pants then. More form-fitting than sweatpants, but still stretchy so they will still fit as she gains weight. Plus, she won't run the risk of looking like a bum in baggy sweatpants when she goes out in public." Her voice implied that going out in public wearing sweat-pants was a serious fashion faux pas, probably on level with wearing plaid shorts with a striped shirt. "Now, any favorite colors? And is there any particular style she seems to lean towards?"_

_Clint mulled over that for a moment. "No particular style. And she gravitates more towards neutral and dark colors…Nothing too bright." (Brianne's face fell at this.) "And she gets cold easy, so some long-sleeve shirts and maybe a jacket?" Hailey's choice of wall color popped into his head and he added, "She does like light purple though."_

_Brianne promptly yanked three pairs of yoga pants with varying colored waist-bands off the rack and shoved them into Clint's arms. She explained, "These are extra-extra-smalls," and then scurried over to the wall where shirts were hung on hooks. A glance back at Clint, "Does she like Twilight?"_

_"_What?_"_

_"The Twilight series? _Vampires_?" She met his blank stare with one of disbelief. "The book and movie series about vampires and werewolves?"_

:?

_"What about The Hunger Games?"Brianne tried hesitantly._

:The Hunger Games?_ Clint shrugged, "Dunno."_

_Brianne blinked several times, opened her mouth to make a comment, closed it again, then drew in a breath before, she asked slowly, as if she thought him to be dim, "Animals? Does she like animals?"_

_That he did know. Eagerly, "Yes, she likes animals." The few pictures he'd seen Hailey drawing had been of animals: Central Park's carriage horses, dogs being walked, birds in flight, and those were just the ones he'd seen. _:That's a safe bet.

_With an adept hand, Brianne swiftly flipped through the shirts on the wall and some the racks, plucking out ones she approved of and would simply hold them out behind her for Clint to grab. Soon he was loaded down with an assortment of World Wildlife Fund shirts featuring different endangered species and yoga pants. Brianne then motioned for him to follow her; she led him over to a clothing rack with varying colors of hoodies. She searched for a moment, then smiled triumphantly—she held up a lavender-colored hoodie for his inspection._

:Her favorite color_. _And that should about do it. She'll have plenty of clothes now_. Clint smiled broadly and acknowledged, "That's perfect." Brianne flashed a return grin, and Clint opened his mouth to thank her for her help, but she quickly dashed his feelings of accomplishment._

_"Now, what about bras and underwear?"_

_Clint's head shot up, like a deer in the headlights. _:Oh god…

"You should go to bed."

Clint cracked open an eye; Hailey was standing a few feet away, arms crossed across her body, having already laid her sketchbook down on the table. He nodded to her. "Good night."

"Night," Hailey yawned as she paced over to her room and disappeared through the door-frame.

As he stood up, he reached his arms out, feeling the muscles in his arms and shoulder stretch smoothly. Clint started for his room, but cast a look down out of curiosity at Hailey's sketchbook. She'd left it open on what she'd been working it. He smiled; the sketch was of him and Natasha sitting at the dinner table, eating a meal. Natasha was giving him that look that said 'Really Barton?' and Clint was laughing wholeheartedly, probably at Natasha's expression. It was one of his favorites.

He wasn't sure why, but that made him feel insanely happy. Like he was doing something right. Clint went to bed with a grin on his face.

* * *

Clint shot up out of bed, pulse pounding, sweat dripping off him. It took a minute to extract himself from the sheets; during the course of his nightmare, the blankets had tangled around his ankles. He flicked on the lamp beside his bed and just sat there for a moment, head resting in his hands. It had been so real. _:Though of course, that's what makes them so terrifying. _This had been a new one though: flames and the tortured voices trapped within them.

His throat was parched, so he decided to get up and get some water from the kitchenette. Clint pushed off from the bed, groaning a bit as muscles stiff from his thrashing about stretched uncomfortably. _:So this is what it feels like to get old_, he thought grumpily as he wandered out into the main living space and from there, into the kitchenette's refrigerator. He grabbed a bottle of water from the door and after cracking the seal on the cap, proceeded to down the whole bottle. _:Ahh, that's better._ After tossing the bottle into the recycling bin, Clint glanced around the suite—two overhead lights had been left on—dimmed—for anyone needing to make a midnight run through the suite. Clint left those lights on for Hailey and Natasha, since he could see just fine in the dark.

It was only Hailey here now though; Natasha had been called away on another mission two days ago. Reminded of his charge, Clint's eyes flicked to her door, where he could see the faintest traces of light leaking from the door frame. _:It's got to be 3 o'clock in the morning. What's she doing up?_ Clint changed direction and headed for Hailey's room. As he got closer he could hear the just audible sound of someone crying. Hesitantly, he knocked lightly on the door. There was no response to that, so he finally knocked again, a little louder this time, and asked, "Hails? You alright?"

There was a muffled reply of, "I'm fine."

Biting his bottom lip, not exactly sure what to do, he implored, "You sure?" She didn't answer. Sighing, "Can I come in?"

A feeble affirmative of "yeah" trickled to his ears.

Clint pushed the button panel on the wall, and the door slid open, revealing Hailey's room. His focus immediately went to the bed, where Hailey was curled up, in the fetal position, back braced against the headboard. Her cheeks were wet, and she drew in shaky breaths, trying to hold back the rest of her tears. Those pretty green eyes were ringed in red as she looked at him reluctantly from her seat on the bed.

He stepped over the threshold, into her room, padding slowly over to the bed. A fleeting instinct told him to sit next to her on the bed—Clint decided to trust it.

The bed sank a bit underneath his weight, and Clint shifted until he was sitting with back leaning on the headboard, with about three feet separating him from Hailey. He hooked his arm over the headboard—rested it there—as an open invitation, though he sincerely doubted she'd take it. Hailey started wiping at her face with her hands, desperate to dry the tears, lest he notice her weakness. That twinged at his heartstrings. _:Poor thing. I wish she'd just talk to me. I feel so worthless not knowing how to help her._

"Bad dream Hails?" he murmured, concern evident in his voice. She nodded, then the tears started again, sobs racking through her tiny frame. His gut reaction was to reach out for her and envelop her in his arms, but he resisted—given her past reactions, that wasn't such a great idea.

So Hailey's next move definitely blind-sided him.

Hailey inhaled sharply, girding herself, then slid sideways in one fluid movement until she was nestled in against his side. She tensed up when she made initial skin contact, but after a few seconds, relaxed and sank in against him. Shocked, Clint froze up for a moment, though he quickly recovered. He wrapped his arms around her thin shoulders and gently pulled her even closer, settling her in his lap. Hailey burrowed her face into his chest, just under his chin, exhaling some tension—though she continued to shake with silent tears. Clint reached up with his left hand and began stroking her hair, making soothing sounds.

Emotions he couldn't begin to describe welled up inside him, and he was glad Hailey didn't seem to be in the mood to talk—Clint had a feeling his voice would betray him. He lost track of how long they sat there; finally Hailey's tears subsided, however, she remained curled up against his chest. Clint sat there, just listening to Hailey's easing breaths, before an idea popped into his head.

"Hails? Whatcha think of raiding Stark's fridge for some milk to make hot chocolate?"

The girl's weight had shifted and a pair of red-rimmed green eyes peered up at him, lit up at the prospect—Clint had discovered she had hankering for hot chocolate (made the _real_ way) with marshmallows. She nodded eagerly, wiping away the dampness on her cheeks, and Clint smiled back. "Alrighty, let's go. Gotta be in stealth mode though…don't want to set off any alarms."

Hailey flashed him a rare grin, accepting the challenge—Clint's chest tightened at this. _:I really wish she'd smile like that more often. _

Trying to get up, Hailey lost her balance a bit, and Clint caught her by the shoulders; he then proceeded to lift her up and deposit her safely on the ground beside the bed. Another smile—not as infectious as before, but progress just the same—lit up her face at his reaction to her clumsiness. Clint pushed off the bed, leading the way out to the elevator.

Minutes later they were stepping off the elevator on the floor where the kitchen was. Clint had been kind of kidding about the alarms (:_Kinda_); there weren't any on the doors for the kitchen or the elevator, but Tony had come to the main floor several mornings during the past couple of weeks in a tiff. Apparently someone had raided his stash of juice boxes and Lucky Charms cereal during the night, leaving only crumbs and empty juice containers.

Clint had been amused to learn _that_ was why there were juice boxes in Stark Tower, and though he had his suspicions about the culprit, he kept his mouth shut. Stark had gotten so aggravated that he'd installed a pass-code lock on the refrigerator and cameras on the snack cabinets. The midnight thief hadn't struck again—though oddly enough, Steve Rogers had been seen carrying bags of groceries up to his room once or twice a week.

So he and Hailey had to contend with the locked refrigerator, though he wasn't worried. Hailey had managed to break into Tony's highest security Research & Development lab, so he was pretty sure she could handle this. She didn't disappoint; on her third attempt, the door swung open.

Curious, Clint asked her, "What was the password?"

"7-6-8-8-7."

"What's that?"

"The numbers that correspond to 'Potts' on a phone keypad," Hailey replied nonchalantly.

Clint had been reaching for the jug of milk, but stopped, looking back at Hailey. "_How_ did you figure _that_ out?"

She shrugged, diverting her attention to the floor, "That's what most of his passwords are like. The numeric representation of words or names such as 'Iron', 'Stark', 'Tony'. This was the first time he used 'Potts' though."

"Huh." Clint turned, grabbed the milk, set it on the counter, and rummaged through several lower cabinets for a small saucepan. Finding a suitable one, he placed it on the stovetop, flicking on the burner. After pouring the milk in, he left it to simmer, and leaned against the counter. Hailey was seated at the small table surrounded by four bar stools, already having gotten the hot cocoa powder out. Her were feet drawn up on the seat, arms holding them loosely as she absent-mindedly watched him.

Clint glanced at the time on the stove; it read 4:09. _:Jeez, it's late. Or early. So worth it though. I was beginning to think she'd never start to trust me._ His mouth turned up, quirking into a smile. He felt pretty accomplished right now—and happy. _:Turns out that nightmare was a blessing in disguise. _

"Why were you up so late?" came a quiet voice from behind him.

A glance over his shoulder showed Hailey's face scrunched together in a mild frown, waiting for his answer.

That got Clint a little off guard since Hailey wasn't big on starting conversations, but maybe tonight was the start of something new. "A bad dream. I had gotten up to get some water when I saw your light on."

She nodded slowly, worry evident on her features as she bit her bottom lip. "What was it? I mean, what was your dream about?"

Clint's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion at her sudden interest, though he wasn't complaining, since she was actually talking to him without prodding. "A fire. There were people trapped inside and I couldn't get them out."

Examining her closely, Clint observed as Hailey's eyes widened in alarm at his words, and the girl fell silent, eyes averted. She was now bent on rubbing the lone scratch in the wood of the table out. Further attempts at conversations failed; all he got out Hailey was a muted "thank you" when he handed her a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

They both went back to their floor after she finished, Clint waiting in the main area to make sure Hailey's light turned off after several minutes. When it did, he turned for his room and went inside to lay down on the bed, but his brain was too wound up with yet _another_ Hailey mystery to actually fall asleep.

_:What that all about?_

* * *

_(three days later)_

It had been another typical morning at Stark Tower. Pretty much every morning the entire team (or rather the members that were within a several mile radius of NYC, or, at least, in the realm of Midgard) gathered for breakfast on the main floor of the Tower. And for those who weren't there, someone would inevitably call him or her on the video phone so they could be present, if only for a minute to say 'hi' (Thor was the only one they couldn't get hold of—Stark and Banner had yet to figure out how to connect a call to Asgard). Clint hadn't thought he and Natasha would've fit in here, with this ritual, with the others, seeing as how before the Avengers came together, they were spies, not superheroes. But that didn't seem to matter, and Natasha seemed to enjoy regularly thrashing Stark's pride, chatting about idle things like fashion with Pepper (which surprised even Clint), and talking with Banner and Rogers.

_:But really, it was me that I expected to not fit in. _Clint was accustomed to sitting back, watching the situation, but never really taking part. The Avengers were beginning to change that. He definitely wasn't the most vocal out of the team, but he really tried to make an effort to interact and joke with the others. Because really, he couldn't expect Hailey to see why it was important to talk and interact with people, if he never did.

So Clint was discussing the pros and cons of different types of bows with Steve, when the compound bow was invented (post-World War II, in 1966, [i.e. when Steve was doing time as a 'Capsicle']), and which kind of bow he preferred (the recurve), with Hailey listening avidly at his side and Natasha sharpening a knife on his left, when he heard Stark make a harrumph of interest from the other end of the table.

Hailey's head shot up, and her eyes trained on Tony, a wary expression on her face. Pepper looked up from her whole grain English muffin at Tony expectantly, waiting for him to explain, but Tony looked up from his tablet's screen and met Clint's gaze, though Iron Man's eyes flickered briefly to Hailey before speaking.

"Talk with you for a second?" Tony asked Clint, already rising from his chair, leaving his bowl of Lucky Charms untouched (the likes of which Steve eyed quite eagerly).

Intrigued, Clint pushed back from the table and followed Stark over to the bar, where they'd be out of earshot. Light, self-assured footsteps behind him told Clint that Natasha had tagged along with them. He slid into a barstool, Natasha following suit; Tony went and stood behind the bar, promptly sliding the tablet across the counter to Clint.

He slid a finger across the screen to unlock it and started reading the open newspaper article:

**Memorial Service for Fire Victims**

**At last, the victims of the April 4th Bronx house fire will be honored and laid to rest. Police have determined that the cause was an electrical fire that started in the ceiling light fixture in the kitchen, which quickly spread to the upper floor bedrooms during the night, killing Thomas Blake, 38, and Marie Blake, 36, along the five children they were fostering: Jared Daniels, 16, Hailey-Lynne Davenport, 13, Michael Garvis, 12, Racquel Stevens, 8, and Danica Stevens, 4. The couple have fostered more than ten children, including those who perished in the fire and were upstanding members of the community. The memorial service will be held at the Bronx Boys and Girls Club this Saturday evening at 5pm. In lieu of flowers, donations can be sent to the Children's Aid Society which is a charity that provides services to children and their families.**

Clint looked up from the tablet, hope dawning, though confusion was definitely warring with that emotion.

"Do you have the original article for the fire?" Natasha inquired, having apparently read over his shoulder.

"Done. Flip to the next page."

Clint followed Stark's instruction and tapped the 'next file' button on the screen. He and Natasha read on:

**FIRE KILLS BRONX FAMILY, 7**

**By Ethan Williamson**

**April 4~At approximately 2 AM last night, police and fire rescue were called to the house of Mr. Thomas and Mrs. Marie Blake after neighbors sighted flames on both the first and second stories of the house. Firefighters entered the house within minutes of the 911 call, but the fire left no survivors. The fire had already consumed the majority of the house by the time it was spotted and after retrieving the remains, firefighters elected to save the neighboring houses rather than try to put out the fire.**

**Preliminary reports from the police suggest it was an electrical fire that started in the wiring of the kitchen ceiling light, which rapidly spread to the upper floor where all the bedrooms were located. Police Chief Darren Stills stated, "At this time, it appears this fire started as result of old, faulty wiring, but all avenues, including arson, will be explored."**

**Mr. and Mrs. Blake at the time of the fire were the guardians of five foster children, ranging from the ages of four to sixteen. They were Danica Stevens, 4, Racquel Stevens, 8, Michael Garvis, 12, Hailey-Lynne Davenport, 13, and Jared Daniels, 16. All were confirmed to have perished in the fire. Investigations will continue in this tragedy, but it appears the police do not suspect any foul play.**

Above the article were two pictures: one the ruins of a small house, with police and firefighters looking on, and beside that, a grainy picture of the Blakes with their five foster children. The picture was so small and of such low quality that made distinguishing facial features damn near impossible, but Clint was able to identify which one would have been Hailey-Lynne Davenport. She would be the small, thin child with long, dark hair standing off on the side of the group, skinny arms wrapped her midsection.

_:Hailey-Lynne…_

It was then he heard the clatter of a chair hitting the floor, and Clint looked up in time to see Hailey running for the door to the emergency staircase, while Steve, Pepper, and Bruce sat in bewilderment at the table. _:Aww, shit. How'd she even hear?_

Clint pushed his stool back to follow her, but Natasha placed a hand on his arm and murmured, "She might need a little space. Give her a few minutes."

Clint reluctantly returned his attention back to the tablet, skimming the article again. Finally he pried his eyes away the screen and met Natasha's; her eyes were filled with the same guarded suspicion that he was sure emanated from his. _Something_ wasn't right. They both turned to Tony at the same time. Stark raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement, then said mildly, "I see my two master assassins smell a rat."

"And obviously you do too," Natasha retorted, her eyes beginning to dance in anticipation of this challenge (and hence why she would never willingly retire from field-work—she enjoyed herself far too much to ever give it up). Despite that eagerness, her eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, and she summarily pushed off her stool and stood. "I gotta look into the police reports. If Hailey is _that_ Hailey, then something is _very_ off. Since they apparently found all seven bodies in the fire and confirmed them dead, that means someone is lying, or there's an extra body that obviously doesn't belong to Hailey."

"What about me?" Stark never wanted to be left out of the party.

Bemusement. "What about you?" Natasha was just toying with Stark now, which was nothing new.

"Well, if you plan on using my computer system, then I want in on the search."

A big sigh before, "Fine. I _suppose_ you can look into the police reports while I hack into New York State's Department of Children & Families foster system database for a Hailey-Lynne Davenport."

Stark smirked, "Not like you could stop me anyways."

"I know." Natasha's smile was genuine.

Tony nodded, then motioned her toward the elevator, sweeping into a mocking bow as she passed, though quickly caught up with and passed her to lead the way—ever the competitor.

"Need any help?" Clint offered, but honestly, he knew they'd decline. Computers and hacking weren't remotely in his area of expertise.

Turning back, Natasha flashed him his favorite stunning smile that lit up her green eyes, "We got this Barton. Go find Hailey." She never lost her stride and continued after Tony, red curls bouncing just above her shoulders as she walked.

* * *

Hailey had been missing since this morning; Clint wasn't immensely concerned though. Stark had set up an alert system that would set off an alarm if she was spotted on camera trying to leave the Tower. Tony had offered to rig the system so everything would go into lockdown if she attempted to leave, but Clint had dissuaded him. _:I don't want to imprison her. I just want to make sure she's safe…and I can't do that if she leaves the Tower without me knowing. _Though honestly, as time wore on, Hailey didn't seem inclined to even step foot outside Stark Tower, so her leaving wasn't a huge concern. Today was the first time that he thought there might be a possibility of the system being used.

Since no alerts had been paged through to his phone, Hailey was still in the Tower, albeit hiding out. Clint had attempted to find her, but with almost one hundred stories to the building, she could be hiding anywhere. Clearly, the girl didn't want to talk to anyone, and Clint was hesitant to bring it up to her until her had more intel on the situation.

He'd read the article nine times now, searching in vain for more clues than the words and grainy photograph would give away. The words 'fire' and 'no survivors' jumped out from the page, but no matter how much Clint squinted at the picture, it was just too grainy to see the face of the girl standing off on the side of the group. Clint could see that it was a young, dark-haired girl, but her features, like the rest of the peoples', were blurry.

So after several hours with no word from Tony and Natasha and coming to no new conclusions himself, Clint grabbed his bow and arrow quiver with a growl, deciding to work out his frustrations and mood on the target range. _:Time to blow some shit up._

Stark had surpassed his expectations with the target range. The man had basically thought of every variable that could affect shooting, whether it be from a gun or bow, and had designed the range so that everyone could practice with each variable, such as lighting, weather conditions, and moving targets, or multiple combinations of the variables.

Clint had decided on the 'howling tempest' setting and promptly manipulated the panel on the wall controlling the range upon arriving on one of the several training floors. While the room maneuvered itself to accommodate the rain and wind variables, Clint pulled his recurve bow out its case, snapped it open, and dialed his quiver to outfit his arrows with 'mildly' explosive tips. _:Don't want to completely trash the target range_, Clint thought with a slightly maniacal grin on his face.

He had his third arrow strung, the bowstring just touching his chin as he drew back, when he realized he had company. Clint loosed the arrow, watching it sail through the sixty+ mile per hour gusts and sink into the target that looked suspiciously like a certain Norse god of mischief—the resulting explosion left the target headless. Clint smirked in satisfaction and turned to face Natasha, who had been watching him with an air of mild amusement, though her all-business work mask came up with her next words.

"Clint, as much as I hate to admit it, I think Stark's on to something with that house fire in the Bronx," Natasha said, sounding mildly exasperated, no doubt since Stark had made the initial discovery (and had subsequently gloated about it).

"It's her?"

"I can't 100% confirm it right now, but I'm going to take a trip to the New York Children's Bureau branch tomorrow morning. For some reason the computer files I'm looking for have error messages. I'm hoping there will be hard copies that I can find."

"That fire didn't happen that long ago—it's too soon for those files to be deleted. If they even get deleted, now that everything can be stored electronically," Clint added, turning one of his arrows over in his hand, thinking.

"That was my feeling. Something's off with those files. Hailey-Lynne Davenport's file only came up when I searched for the full name, but when I tried to open it, it had an error message. So I started checking out the other children in that foster home. All of them came up with the same message. They exist in the system to the point until you actually try to access them." It was a beat before she added, "This smells like FBI or DEA."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: The Avengers and its characters belong to Marvel & Disney. Hailey and the storyline are products of my overactive imagination.**

**Author's Note: **I'm so sorry it's taken me this long to write a new chapter. I broke my arm five weeks ago (which made typing initially very difficult) and there have been assorted other issues following that. Not to mention that Ch. 6 was originally 9,500 words, so I had to cut off the last portion of the chapter. (Which is great for you, since that means part of Ch. 7 is already written.)

But since everyone has waited so long and there wasn't as much about Hailey in this chapter as originally planned, here's a little tidbit: Hailey could be considered a "remarkable" person

=P Take from that what you will

Also want to give a huge thank-you to Olivion, who graciously responded to my pleas and has been doing/correcting the Russian translations. Thanks a million!

~random-writer-grl: I actually hadn't thought of that, Hailey being the one to mess with the files. Alas, she is not Lisbeth Salander, so those missing files aren't her doing.

(And if anyone didn't get that reference, go pick up a copy of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. You won't be sorry. However, you might be sorry you didn't pick up the sequels at the same time.)

~Bethanlovesoned: I'm so glad you liked Ch. 5, and thank you so, so much for the PM. It made me so excited to write that I overwrote a bit, lol.

~KathyForest52: Hopefully this chapter is enough to satisfy on finding out about Hailey. Though what you get really just raises more questions. Next chapter is going to have a nice long talk between Clint & Hailey though.

And what's going on between Hailey and Bruce? He hasn't done anything that should scare her, but she is leery of him nonetheless. I'll say that much. It'll make sense soon enough =)

~Arianna: I'm glad the immediate connection is visible; I've tried my hardest to make it like the connection between a newborn and parent. They've only just met the child, but still would do anything for them. That's love. I was laughing as I wrote the shopping scene, because it was clearly pictured in my mind—I'm glad you were amused too

Now that I wrote an essay, here's the chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

"This smells like FBI or DEA."

Clint's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You and I readin' the same newspaper article?"

"Yes, but the official police report is lacking some rather pertinent details," she replied dryly. "Crime scene reports say an accelerant was used. Faulty wiring doesn't usually cause gasoline to be splashed throughout the second floor, nor start individual fires on the beds in each bedroom. Nor does bad wiring cause blunt head trauma to people's skulls."

"Jesus, Nat." _:The implications of that…What if she was there when the house was torched? That'd go a long way to explaining some of her phobias._

Natasha grimaced slightly as she responded, "Yeah, can't say I was expecting to find that."

"So…you think she's connected?" Clint asked dubiously. :_Mafia? Gang related?_

"Not in the sense you're asking, but innocents get caught in the crossfire all the time. I'd say one or both of the foster parents were involved in drug trafficking on some level. Could be gang or mafia related too. And that they angered the wrong person or people. And for some reason, the US government doesn't want this to be common knowledge."

"That doesn't make much sense," Clint remarked, fingers drumming lightly on the grip of his bow, still mulling over what Natasha found.

"I know. I'm hoping things will be clearer after I get hold of the files, but your Hailey, if this is her, is right in the middle of a pretty big government cover-up. Wonder how they'd feel about a witness showing up unexpectedly."

His next words were practically a growl. "No one's gonna touch her."

"Hmph. Didn't think that was an issue myself," Natasha remarked in a teasing tone, a mischievous grin fixed on her face.

Clint fidgeted with his bow, feeling a bit awkward about his instinctive remark. _:I've only known her for a month._ Instantly, he felt guilty for thinking _that_, since it had absolutely no bearing on his feelings. None whatsoever—his mind forced him to admit (albeit to himself), _:Hailey's not just anyone. She's special…She's…my…my daughter…_

"Stop freaking out Barton. I can practically hear your mind starting to run in circles," Natasha jibed. "Breathe, and I'll see what I can find tomorrow, 'kay? I'm gonna go work out in the gym for a bit right now. You're welcome to join." The last sentence was said with a smirk cast over her shoulder as she walked away—a smirk that changed the meaning to "you should join".

His train of thought interrupted (_:Thank goodness_), he chuckled, then replied, "Alright Tasha, I can take a hint. Give me a few minutes to clean up the range and I'll meet you there."

Clint stooped to dismantle his bow and place it in the case; these motions were automatic, which allowed him ample opportunity to check out Natasha as she strode out to the hallway from the shooting range. He was quite appreciative of the dark-wash jeans she was wearing—a perfect distraction from feelings he hadn't sorted out yet. _:Nice and..._

"You'll have plenty of time to check out my ass later tonight Hawk-boy," Natasha stated nonchalantly, without even turning around, knowing Clint would hear her.

_:Busted._ Not that he cared—she caught him checking her out all the time. He grinned and turned to press the power button on the computer display and his targets were promptly whisked away into the walls and the ceiling, though the grin faded as his mind was drawn back to Hailey and the mysterious circumstances that surrounded her.

_:Hopefully, she'll be ready to talk by dinnertime_, Clint thought, as he made his way off the now cleared target range.

_:And hopefully I'll know what the hell to say._

* * *

_(the next morning)_

"You sure you don't want me to come with you?" he asked Natasha, who had just finished her breakfast of black coffee and a granola bar—the granola bar Clint had forced on her. As per usual, she was unintentionally skimping on food from her combination of nerves and excitement that accompanied any mission.

He looked up in time to see Natasha flip a blonde lock out of her face as she turned to give him an amused grin. It startled him (_:Again_). Ever since she'd dyed her hair the night before, Clint kept getting caught off guard by 'Nadine Roman'. Honestly though, he was also surprised she'd waited this long to dye it, since all of the Avengers had been getting plenty of attention after the Battle of Manhattan. The media hadn't been able to learn Captain America's, the Black Widow's, or Hawkeye's real identities yet. A few had made the connection between the New Mexico incident and Thor (though whether they believed him to be the Norse god of thunder was a whole 'nother story). And some had recognized the Hulk as being the green monster that had trashed Harlem a few years back, though, thankfully Bruce Banner hadn't been named as the Dr. Jekyll of that equation yet. Tony was the only one used to the publicity and subsequently soaked up as much of it as he possibly could. The others had their faces plastered across every news outlet in the world, so precautions had to been taken if going out where there were large numbers of people. Clint and Natasha were the least known of the team, but still, there was always the chance a fan might recognize them. _:Still. She looks so different blonde. Not bad, just, different. I'll always prefer the red though. _

"I'm sure." Natasha smirked, tossing her head once in challenge, green eyes sparkling.

Clint snorted. "You laugh now. Just wait until I have to come bail you out."

"You wish. I've gotten myself out of way worse."

"Oh, you mean like Minsk? Or Belfast?" Vaguely, Clint heard Tony make an exasperated sound from across the table.

She glared at him for that. "You name the _two_ times I had get emergency evac."

"Mumbai?" _:Gotcha, babe._

With an eye roll and a sigh, Natasha admitted, "Fine. Three."

Triumphant, Clint grinned at her, knowing he'd won, but he suddenly became aware the rest of the Avengers had stopped talking and were listening to his and Natasha's conversation with avid fascination (Pepper hadn't come down yet for breakfast, and Hailey was still MIA). Noticing his attention, Tony, Steve, and Bruce quickly looked down at their respective breakfasts. Clint chuckled lightly at this, but stood up, pushing the chair out to accompany Natasha to the elevator to see her off.

They walked side-by-side, not touching until they were out of view of the others. Leaning against Clint's chest, Natasha whispered, "Have fun with that."

Clint took that to mean his nosy teammates who would no doubt finally be brave enough to broach the subject of his and Natasha's relationship when he went back to finish his breakfast. He was sort of looking forward to it. _:I get to mess with Stark._

Natasha read his mind and grinned, "Give him hell."

"It'll be a pleasure, my паук (spider)."

With that, Natasha brushed her lips against Clint's lightly in farewell, but sprang away before he could deepen the kiss. He grumbled good-naturedly at this as she waved good-bye from inside the elevator.

"Bye Nat. Good luck. And thanks."

"Of course. до скорого, ястреб (Until later hawk)," Natasha called to him just as the elevator doors started to close.

Clint waited until the elevator doors shut before he turned back to walk into the eating area. He had barely passed the threshold into the room when it started.

"So…you and Romanoff, huh?" A bed-headed Tony shot Clint an all-knowing look, his eyebrows raised, a smirk quirking up the corner of his mouth.

Clint didn't rise to the bait; instead, he crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, playing dumb. "Me and Romanoff what?"

Tony made a scoffing sound and gave Clint a look of disgust. "Come _on_. Her room's never been slept in. I don't even think she's _been_ in the room. And inquiring minds want to know, am I right?" Tony asked, glancing at Steve and Bruce in turn.

"Stark, it's none of your business," Steve said tiredly over his plate of bacon, eggs, and toast for the second time this morning. He and his lack of any female companionship had been the object of Tony's conversation up until Natasha had announced her imminent departure.

"Phft. Come on old man, you know you're curious. You too Banner."

Clint watched in amusement as the quiet scientist raised both hands from his toast, looking worriedly between Tony and Clint. _:Poor Bruce, he really tries to stay out of any conflicts…And Stark loves nothing more than to drag him in._

"Really guys, I don't…" Bruce sputtered.

"Tony, stop prying. It's rude," Pepper admonished as she strode purposefully into the eating area, taking a seat next to Tony, swiping a piece of bread from the platter in the center of the table.

_:Guy talk's over._

Tony frowned a little, Pepper having spoiled his fun, and whined, "But I need to know, for the plans."

"What plans?" Clint, Steve, and Bruce asked, all together. Clint and Steve's tones were wary—Bruce's was tinged with excitement.

Tony half-smiled into his bowl of Lucky Charms, then let out a big dramatic sigh, playing it up. With a glance first at Pepper (who rolled her eyes but waved him on), he turned and announced, "Well, I guess this is as good a time as any to show them."

With that, Tony pushed away from the table and sauntered over to a smaller table in the corner, where he pulled up a 3-D image of Stark Tower, though on this model, only the 'A' in Stark remained. He motioned them over, then looked at Clint deadpan. "But maybe, before I show everyone, you could tell us about some of you and Red's missions first."

Clint grinned, knowing what was coming.

"Like Budapest for instance."

* * *

Today certainly hadn't gone exactly as planned. _:Not that _anything_ in my life is going according to plan right now._ Clint felt like he'd been sent out on a black ops mission without a debriefing—stumbling blindly, not sure where he was supposed to looking.

A new piece of the puzzle was now in his possession though. The file folder for Hailey-Lynne Michelle Davenport sat on the coffee table in front of him. Clint had already read it front to back twice, just to make sure he hadn't missed any crucial details. By the end, he was sure his Hailey and Hailey-Lynne were one and the same; the collection of pictures at the end of the file only further confirmed it.

Hailey was born September 25th, 1998 to parents Ryan and Sarah Davenport in Liberty, New York. They were both twenty-five years when their car hit a patch of black ice and sent them careening off the road into a ditch, killing them on impact. By some miracle, their fifteen month-old daughter, strapped securely in her car-seat, survived the crash and the subsequent night in freezing temperatures until a volunteer firefighter found the wrecked car the next morning.

With no surviving family on either side, the infant was placed under the care of the state of New York's foster system. Her first foster home was with an older woman—named Isabelle Richards—who seemed to specialize in children under the age three. While there, Hailey garnered attention from a couple that was seeking to adopt a child. So shortly before her third birthday, she went to live with Bill and Mary Donovan. For reasons not specified in the file, she only remained with the Donovans for three months before she was sent back to her first foster home.

Hailey was age six before she left Isabelle Richards' care again, when she was more than double the age of the rest of Isabelle's charges. She was fostered to another family that had plans to adopt, but once again, she was sent back; this time it lasted six months.

And this time, there hints as to why. The foster parents stated Hailey was an 'odd child' with a 'very vivid imagination'. For these odd explanations, Hailey was seen by a psychiatrist. The doctor was unable to diagnose her, but the consultation notes threw around words like 'overactive imagination', 'possible hallucinations', and 'possible early onset mental health disorder such as schizophrenia or schizoaffective disorder'. Following the doctors' evaluations, the couple decided they didn't want to adopt a child with potential psychiatric issues.

The cycle continued, with her going back to Isabelle Richards' home until another family came along; this time they already had a son and were looking to adopt a daughter. It lasted a month. The report cited 'issues with the family's biological son'.

By then Hailey was eight years old, Isabelle Richards had retired from her caretaking, and the New York Children's Bureau had to place her in girls' home for 'troubled girls'. Hailey never spoke again: not in school, not at home.

She refused all pysch evaluations, by simply refusing to answer questions. She received perfect grades in school, except when an oral presentation was mandatory; in which case, she pretended she hadn't completed the assignment. Eventually everyone gave up on getting her to speak.

Then, when Hailey was eleven, the girls' home was closed suddenly, and the girls were separated and sent to new foster homes: that how she came to live in the Bronx with the Blakes. According to the last inspection held four months prior, Hailey still had yet to speak while living at the Blake's house with the four other foster children.

There was still the large gap of what happened to Hailey during and after the incident which claimed the lives of her latest foster parents and siblings until Clint found her living in the streets, but he had a slightly better idea of Hailey's life-story. Or rather, he had a general outline—the gaps of which could only be filled in by Hailey. _:If she ever decides to tell me._

He was a bit baffled by the mention of the psychiatric issues though; as of yet, he hadn't seen anything that tipped him off in that direction. She was shy, and obviously distrustful of people, but schizophrenia? He'd seen none of the symptoms that would suggest a psychiatric disorder. And then there was the matter of her previous muteness. _:When did she start speaking again? Was_ I_ the first person she spoke to? _

The file had brought up more questions than it answered.

Clint was thankful Natasha had been successful in retrieving the file (despite the questions it raised), but even she admitted that was more sheer luck than anything else. If she hadn't been arrested by the FBI while impersonating one of their own, she would've never been brought to the undercover headquarters where the files for all the children were being kept, and Clint still wouldn't have known about Hailey's past.

That was the other part of the day that had thrown a curveball. Despite his jokes at breakfast, Clint never expected to have to go bail Natasha out of a mission gone wrong. No one had been injured (or rather, he and Natasha hadn't been injured—the jury was out about the one FBI agent who'd pursued them), and the file had been retrieved, but the moment that stuck out the most was his sheer panic when the SOS signal transceiver he always carried went off.

In the second year of their partnership at SHIELD, they'd come up with an idea that would enable them to send out an SOS signal to one another, when a mission had gone wrong and one or the other needed bailed out. Initially, it had been a simple tracking device inside a set of dog tags (Clint's original dog tags from his army stint) that gave off a GPS location to the other. Now, Clint and Natasha were able tell one another how bad the situation was depending on the numbers of times the dog tag was struck against a hard surface. One tap for mortal danger (captured and severely injured), two for captured with minor injuries, three to denote captured, but uninjured, and four taps to convey needing back-up ASAP, otherwise one of the above would occur.

Natasha's signal had come to him shortly after lunch when he was making his rounds of the Tower, still looking for Hailey. The dog tag started burning against his neck, signifying the Black Widow had been compromised. He'd yanked the dog tag out of shirt just in time to see a number '3' glow brightly on the surface of the metal, along with a set of coordinates.

_:'3'. Captured, but uninjured._ Clint had breathed a sigh of relief at this, but a second later, he was barreling for the staircase, already whipping out his phone to call Stark.

* * *

:I knew I should've gone with her,_ Clint thought for an infinite time since he left the Tower._

_Clint eased the most inconspicuous of Stark's cars—a blacked out Mercedes sedan with more horsepower under the hood than an Indy 500 car—to a halt outside the building, a ramshackle office building in a block of other run-down office buildings, all appearing to be a dreary gray in the slight drizzle of rain that was threatening to become a monsoon. Not exactly what he expected the FBI or DEA to hold suspects in, but he guessed this was probably an undercover base._

_He put the car in park, shut off the engine, and then fidgeted with his tie, making sure it was neatly tied. Black tie, stark white shirt, black suit—Clint couldn't look more like a government agent if he tried. Leaning over the center console, he grabbed the ID badge Tony had forged for him and the briefcase carrying a variety of gadgets, varying from an Eye-D machine (a tool used to bypass a retinal scanner), several smoke bombs, a Banshee (a small metal ball whose sole purpose was to make a ruckus), a grappling hook with a length of Oscorp biocable attached, a laser capable of cutting through a steel-reinforced blast door, a basic first aid kit, and a brunette woman's wig._

_Clint clipped the ID badge to the lapel of his suit's jacket and opened the car door. Closing it, the door made a muted thud into the empty street. He briskly strode across the sidewalk and up the steps to the door. Scanning for some sort of identification or pass-code pad, Clint also kept his senses peeled for any threat. _

:Nothing._ The paint was peeling, the concrete slab in front was cracking, and the only thing that looked out of place on this product of the economy crash was the fact that there was a doorbell like one would see on a house next to the door handle._

_Acting on a hunch, he pressed the old, worn doorbell button. The plate spring away from the wall, revealing a retinal scanner. Clint casually opened the briefcase, slipped out the Eye-D device, and snapped the briefcase shut. He pressed the tool over the screen and waited. Seconds later, the screen lit up green, and Clint heard the deadbolt slide, unlocking the door. :Bingo__. _

_Clint opened the door and stepped inside, shutting the door carefully behind him; the deadbolt slid back into place. No one was in the immediate vicinity, so Clint took a moment to slip the Eye-D device into the back pocket of his pants and evaluate his surroundings: bland, mint green walls, a fake plant in the corner, an empty secretary desk, two hallways branching off from the lobby, and an elevator._

_Not wanting to risk anyone seeing him while he searched for a staircase, he moved to the elevator and pressed the button. A gut feeling told him Natasha was being held in the basement—the only problem was that there was no button to press for down. A glance both ways confirmed there was no one in the hallways, though this made him a little uneasy. _:Rather have an enemy I can see. _The elevator door creaked open, and he stepped inside. It smelled like stale cigarette smoke and sweaty gym socks, a combination Clint wasn't particularly thrilled with having to breathe, though it verified his guess that this place had been around long before smoking had been banned indoors._

_Studying the elevator panel, he pulled the elevator-stop knob, thankful it didn't set off an alarm. _:Damn-it, no button for a ground floor_. Clint's eyes flitted around the elevator, taking in every nick or crease in the walls, evaluating them for a potential trigger button, one that would take him lower. _

:Nothing. Shit._ Clint braced himself against the elevator wall, mentally debating his options after this dead end._

:Situation: SHIELD operative taken prisoner by unknown number of hostiles. Hostiles most likely armed and therefore considered dangerous. Avoid contact with hostiles at all costs, but if engaged, aim to disarm/disable, not injure or kill. Successful infiltration of hostiles' compound complete, but utmost care needed to remain under radar.

:Choices: Follow hunch that operative is being held in building basement and rappel down elevator shaft using grappling hook and Oscorp biocable, or risk being spotted looking for staircase.

:Decision: Plan A.

_Decision made, Clint pressed the button for the fifth floor, then darted out into the lobby. The sensor in the elevator that tells it something passed through the doors detected him and held the doors open for another thirty seconds. That gave Clint ample time to grab his grappling hook out of the briefcase, attach the length of biocable through a caribiner clip onto the climbing harness he'd rigged beneath his suit, and strap the briefcase with the rest of his gear to his back. _

:Whoever designed this briefcase to convert into a backpack was a genius_, Clint thought, waiting calmly for the doors to slid shut. _

_The second they did, he rushed forward, and began trying to pry the doors apart. Distantly, the elevator dinged as it passed a floor. The ancient elevator's slowness was a blessing, though he and Natasha probably wouldn't think that later if they had to use it to escape._

_Clint's above average human strength wasn't quite a match for the doors that were clamped tightly shut. Despite his exertions, they remained resolute and unmoving. Desperately, he jammed his grappling hook against the crevice between the doors. Finally, one of the hooks wormed its way in, and the doors moved apart a centimeter. Leaving the hook in place, Clint stubbornly worked at the opening, finally managing to force it open a few inches. _

_Another ding from overhead signifying the passing of the second floor. _:Or was that the third floor? Did I miss one?_ Clint redoubled his effort regardless, finally getting the elevator doors open with a three feet gap, with a fair bit of sweating and under-the-breath cursing involved. _

_Wasting no time, Clint peered into the darkness of the elevator shaft. Sure enough, instead of the shaft ending a few feet below this floor, it went down another twenty feet or so. There was, in fact, a basement._

_He tossed the grappling hook onto the reception desk, easing it back until it lodged against the granite countertop. Clint gave the line a few firm tugs, confirming it was secured in place, and then turned back to the elevator shaft. After another quick glance—this time to make sure the elevator wasn't about to come down to the first or basement floors and thereby squish him—Clint faced his back to the elevator shaft and pushed off the edge of the floor, rappelling into the darkness._

_About thirty seconds later, Clint was dangling outside the closed elevator doors that would open into the basement. He tied himself off, so he wouldn't slide past the doors down to where the mechanicals parts of the elevator system were located, down at the bottom of the elevator shaft. _

_And this was when he ran into a problem. The grappling hook he'd used to pry open the elevator doors initially was now the anchor holding him here. Nothing in the briefcase was of any help—except possibly the laser cutter (but that was sure to be a noisy, attention-drawing endeavor)—so his only option was his knife._

_Bringing his left leg up to his chest, Clint reached for the sheath on his calf and slid the knife out. _:I hope this works. Stupid not think of this BEFORE you rappelled down here Barton._ The blade on it was only four inches long, not exactly what he wanted to pry the doors open, especially since he was dangling in the air and didn't have much to brace against as a base of support._

_Jamming the knife blade into the miniscule gap between the doors, Clint began working the knife back and forth. Each time he pressed his weight against the knife, the doors moved a minute amount. When he had an inch gap, he pressed his face against the doors so he could take stock of his situation. _

_Leading straight away from the elevator was a broad hallway, with doors scattered along its length. Clint couldn't see what was immediately outside of the elevator at this point due to the narrow field of vision, but he didn't see anyone. He did hear some faint voices, but it was hard to tell how far away they were without knowing the exact layout and acoustics of the basement. _

_Since no one had sounded the alarm about the elevator mysteriously starting to creep its way open, Clint had to trust that there was no one in the immediate vicinity of the elevator. He continued prying the doors open until there was a foot gap. Not wanting to risk taking any more time here, he made the decision to squeeze sideways through the opening. _

_Clint placed his left foot on the floor outside the elevator for balance, then slipped the backpack briefcase off since he wouldn't fit through with it on his back. He dangled it by a strap, slowly lowering it to the floor. _:Quietly, quietly. Don't drop it, _Clint told himself as he felt beads of sweat forming on his brow. _:Can't blow it now._ He breathed a sigh of relief as it touched down with a scarcely audible thud. That accomplished, Clint shimmied between the elevator doors. _

_That's when voices started echoing down the hallway, growing louder with each passing second. _:It's go-time.

_Clint unclipped himself from the biocable line, shoved it back into the elevator shaft, and summarily spun on heel back to his briefcase. He converted it back to looking like a briefcase (no backpack straps) and opened it, grabbing the Banshee out before snapping it closed._

_The voices were even closer now. Now that he was out of the elevator, a quick glance told him there was the hallway straight ahead, along with one that branched off and curved away to his right. The voices were coming from that hallway. On his left was a vented door that hummed. _:Probably air-conditioning or electrical closet.

_He didn't even have to think about this. Clint grabbed a hemisphere of the Banshee in each hand and twisted in opposite directions. The ball lit up at its equator and started blinking rapidly: Clint had ten seconds before it started screaming like its namesake. He tossed it underhand down the hallway leading straight away from the elevator and didn't wait to see where it ended up; Clint dove for the closet to his left just as the Banshee started shrieking._

_The voices he'd heard stopped for a moment, then resumed several decibels higher as they started questioning each other._

_"What f*ck is that?"_

_"How the hell am I supposed to know?"_

_"You should! It's probably coming from _your_ office!"_

_It was close quarters in the closet with AC right behind him, but Clint had a limited view of the hallway that branched away from the main hallway through the slats in the door. Enough to see three suit-clad agents—FBI by their ID badges—sprint into view for a brief moment before they darted around the corner. They apparently never noticed the partially opened elevator doors either._

:That's my cue.

_Clint turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. To his left were the retreating backs of the three agents. Straight ahead was a clear hallway. He moved out of the closet, shut the door silently behind him, and strode purposefully out into the hallway._

_Now he was SSA (Supervisory Special Agent) Aaron Bartholomew of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit Four—a briefcase toting member of the Violent Criminal Apprehensive Program here to take over the interrogation of the suspect found breaking into the files at the New York Children's Bureau. Clint sincerely hoped he didn't have to see how well his false identity would hold up._ :Cause it won't. One call to FBI headquarters, and I'm through. I'll have knock anyone out who seems suspicious of me.

_He wasn't too concerned about the three agents that had gone to investigate the Banshee. Short of applying several atmospheres of pressure to it, it couldn't be broken and there was no 'off' switch for it. It would stop after ten minutes—no matter what. There was also the added bonus for its user that a minute and a half after activation, it went into frequencies that caused temporary deafness to those within a twenty foot radius. Bad if you were still in the vicinity; excellent if you needed to make an escape, since your followers would be lacking a sense. _

_Clint continued down the hall, reaching where it turned a corner, and stopped to listen. Coming from the direction of where he'd thrown the Banshee, more voices had added theirs to the original three (they were somehow louder than the Banshee at the moment, amazingly enough), but he couldn't hear anyone heading toward him. _:Perfect.

_He advanced around the corner, finding himself in hallway much like the one directly off the elevator: cold, utilitarian, blue-gray walls that stretched on, only to be broken up by closed doors and other hallways branching off. It was blessedly empty. _

_About thirty feet down, Clint stumbled across a sort of blind alley off on the side. There were surveillance monitors, chairs, and table, but more importantly a looking glass window. That one-way glass window looked into an unfriendly, stone grey room that housed a steel table and two steel chairs._

_Natasha was handcuffed and seated in the chair on the far side of the table. She had an expression of carefully contrived boredom as she stared indifferently at the mirrored glass. _:Probably trying to freak out her captors._ Clint noted several effects on the table in front of her: an ID badge, a USB drive, and one lone manila file folder approximately an inch thick._

_:_Could we be lucky enough that's Hailey's? _Clint eagerly grabbed the door handle to the interrogation room, but stopped—he needed something to prop it open with. Spotting a still steaming mug of coffee on the table beside him, he grabbed it, then opened the door._

_Clint placed the cup in the door jam, made sure the door didn't knock it out of the way when it closed, and sauntered into the room with a casual air. He wasn't about to let an opportunity to razz his partner pass him by, no matter the circumstances._

_With a grin and an overly excited voice, he said, "Fancy meeting you here darling." _

_In that moment, the Black Widow glared icily back at him, not Natasha. (And yes, there was a difference. Natasha was his best friend, his partner—the Black Widow was the remnants of the Red Room agent he'd been sent to kill.) The 'darling' part probably did it. Clint crossed his ankles, casually leaning against the wall, a smirk on his face. _:Damn, she's pissed_, he thought with a touch of elation. A flicker of annoyance flashed through her blazing green eyes, then his partner snorted, breaking the tension, but she didn't speak yet._

_She was dressed in a pant suit that managed to look authoritative and seductive at the same time. Her hair was mildly disheveled, though that must be an act, since if Natasha had messed up her hair resisting arrest, she wouldn't have been arrested. There would've been bodies in bags, with her walking calmly away, completely unruffled. Aside from her tousled locks, she appeared to be unharmed, albeit handcuffed to the metal table that was heavily bolted to the bare concrete floor. _

_Clint wasn't surprised; the United States government wasn't one for torture, unless you were a terrorist threat, and Natasha was more than a match for any questioning or interrogation techniques the FBI might've thrown at her. _:In fact, she could probably teach them a thing or two.

_What did surprise him was that Natasha was still here. The security in this building wasn't anything substantial; it had pretty much been a walk in the park for Clint, so Natasha must've had a reason for not busting herself out. _

_He sauntered over to the table, pulled out the empty chair and sat, propping his feet up on the table. Clint pressed his hands against the back of his head and eyed Natasha with careless abandon. Her nostrils flared in annoyance, the levity from a few moments ago scattered to the winds. _:She's mad I had to bail her out._ Not that Natasha hadn't ever had to salvage one of his missions, or save his ass—the Loki mind control incident was the most recent, and in Clint's opinion, the worst—but Natasha was a lot harder on herself than Clint. Sometimes it was still hard for her to realize it was okay for Clint to come to the rescue._

:That's why we're partners. We've got each others' backs. Doesn't mean I can't tease her about it though.

_They sat in silence until she finally caved, much to Clint's delight._

_"So are you going to uncuff me, or am I going to have to do it myself?"_

_Clint smirked. "Why? I thought we could keep those on for later."_

_Next thing he knew, he was laying face down on the floor with his legs tangled up in his chair—which had evidently been kicked out from underneath him. Clint laughed, wiping away the stream of blood trickling out of his nose from the impact into the floor; now he noticed Natasha's very much unhindered legs. _:Shoulda seen that coming.

_Using the table to get up, Clint pulled himself onto his feet, giving a cursory glance at Natasha. Her face was in a bland, innocent mask, though her eyes positively gleamed with mischief and unholy glee. _

_"Are you ready to go yet Agent Bartholomew?" Natasha asked with cunning politeness, reading off the name Stark had contrived for him when he made the badge. Despite being handcuffed to a chair in an interrogation room beneath the ground, she had complete control of her environment. Clint missed being with her in the field._

_Grabbing the file folder that read "Hailey-Lynne Davenport" on its tab, he opened the briefcase, placing it carefully inside. He pulled out the wig, smokebombs, and laser. _

_Clint figured they'd need them._

* * *

Natasha found Clint on the roof. With infinite grace, she cast both her legs over the edge of the Tower, mirroring him, and settled next to him. He slung his arm carelessly over her shoulders and snugged her close. Clint smiled into her hair when Natasha rested her head of blonde curls on his shoulder. They sat and watched the sun sinking down over Manhattan in silence. The sky painted itself with a flood of reds and pinks, oranges and yellows. Sunsets are at their most beautiful after a stormy day, and this one was no different.

They remained at their perch until the sun sank down below their horizon-line, just taking in the splash of color remaining in the sky. Dusk had fallen when Clint could feel his bones getting stiff from sitting in the same place for several hours. He shifted slightly, and Natasha's head jerked up—he'd startled her. _:Did she fall asleep?_

"Sorry to wake you Sleeping Beauty," Clint quipped, with a grin on his face.

"Yeah, whatever Robin Hood. You ready to ride away with me into the sunset?" she scoffed back, while discreetly rubbing her eyes to wake up.

"Of course not Tasha. We're riding away into Sherwood Forest. Get your damn stories straight," Clint said with an eye roll as he swung his legs back over the edge of the building, holding out a hand to help a smirking Natasha up.

To Clint's surprise, Natasha accepted his outstretched hand, using it to spring lightly to her feet. She put a hand on his arm when he turned to lead the way back into the Tower, asking him to stop. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for another witty remark. Natasha inhaled deeply, then plunged in. "Before we go in, I just wanted to make sure you didn't need to talk about Hailey." When he opened his mouth to deny needing to talk, she cut in, "I call bullshit. What I should have said was 'Spit it out. Something's bothering you'. Talk. Now."

_:Crap. I haven't even figured it out yet. _Clint sighed gustily, admitting defeat and motioned to the two lawn-chairs someone else had drug up to the roof. Once they were both seated, he stared at his hands, tracing over the scars mindlessly as he started spilling the thoughts that had plagued him the past few days, playing on an endless loop in his mind.

"I haven't been thinking in the long term about this, cause really, how could I? Somewhere deep down, I knew it couldn't last. When I took my first job as a mercenary, I knew I was giving up children and a family because they'd always be in constant danger, just because of me. And the enemies I'd make. I couldn't live with myself if something happened to Hailey because of who I am."

Natasha watched him in silence, green eyes seeming to soak up his words, letting him ramble it out:

"And then my job itself. How am I even remotely qualified for parenthood? I'm an assassin—how am I supposed to raise a daughter to have a good moral compass when my morality and ethics are so far askew from anything in the realm of a normal person's? I kill people for a living.

"Plus, there's always the possibility that I might not make it back from a mission. That isn't a stable environment for her. She deserves something a hell of a lot better than me as a parent."

Natasha waited for a moment, making sure he'd finished before asking, "Okay. So what are you going to do?"

Clint grimaced, "I…I'm not sure. She's been through enough, and I don't want to force her to do something against her will. But.."

He faltered and looked up at Natasha, pleading for an answer.

She held up both hands in front of, palms out. "I'm not going to tell you what to do. I can't have a child, and wouldn't even if I could, but I'm not going to stand in your way if that's what you want. You'll be my partner no matter what." Her head cocked to the side at this, a sweet smile playing her lips. But then a hard glint flitted over her eyes. "But I don't think you're thinking this through the whole way."

"What do you mean?" Clint asked, taken aback.

"Hailey is living in Stark Tower with the Avengers. If she isn't safe with Captain America, Iron Man, the Hulk, Hawkeye, and the Black Widow here, then she isn't safe anywhere. Do you honestly think you're the only one who cares about her? Steve adores her, and Tony spends hours devising ways to get her to talk to him. Not to mention Pepper. Someone would have to get through all of us to get to her. So yes, being your daughter might put her in danger, but I think having the world's greatest superhero team as protection definitely offsets that."

_:Hadn't really considered that. I guess I didn't _really_ realize everyone was so…enamored…by her._ Clint blinked, surprised, though the more he thought about, the more he saw it. Steve trying to get Hailey to go to the Central Park Zoo a few days ago. Tony making a game out of changing the passwords to his labs to give Hailey a challenge. Pepper trying to take Hailey shopping for clothes. And Bruce always making an effort to say hello to her, even though most days Hailey would find a reason to leave the room, unless all the others were there with her.

Natasha continued, "And you're not a mercenary anymore. You work for SHIELD. Does that make it anymore right, killing under SHIELD's orders? I think so, and I know you do too, otherwise you wouldn't be working for them. And you can't tell me you've never questioned SHIELD orders."

Clint smiled begrudgingly. _:She's got me there._ The mission to eliminate one Natalia Romanova hadn't been the first time he'd questioned orders, though it was certainly the most memorable. And argumentative: on Fury's end and Natasha's.

"So you're saying I could do this?" Clint inquired. _:I can't believe this conversation is actually happening._

In the looming darkness (as dark as it could get in New York City at least), Clint watched Natasha cross her arms across her chest. She gave him a withering look, "No. I'm just saying, don't be stupid."

_:Helpful. _With a snort of amusement, Clint pushed up from his chair, ready for dinner at this point. He cast a glance back at Natasha, "How'd you know?"

His partner grinned. "Read between the lines. You never use explosive arrow tips for target practice unless you're frustrated, and I haven't trounced you in hand-to-hand that bad since you broke six ribs on that Berlin mission a few years back but wouldn't admit it, which means you were in severe pain or severely distracted. And then, you go up to high places to think. You're open book Barton—don't try hiding stuff from me. I don't like it, and you're not very good at it."

Clint raised his hands in defeat. _:Guess I got more stuff to think about now._

* * *

_(Later that evening)_

"If you're going to walk that loudly, could you find another place to do it?" Natasha grumbled from the bed.

Clint froze, realizing he'd been pacing as he mulled over his thoughts. _:I might've been thinking out loud too._ He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed a bit, and murmured, "Sorry Tasha."

There was a senseless mutter in response before Natasha rolled over in bed, her back facing him. Clint walked over to the bed and leaned over, pressing his lips to her temple lightly. She smiled vaguely and unconsciously pulled the sheets up around her for warmth. He listened for a moment, waiting for her breaths to fall into the rhythm of sleep.

Once they did, Clint slinked toward the door, making sure not to wake Natasha again. On an impulse as he slipped out the door to the main room, he whispered, "Night Tasha" into the dark bedroom. Then he walked wearily over to the couch to take up where he'd left off in his internal debates.

_:How do I explain all this to a thirteen year old? That I kill for a living? How can she understand that I'm an assassin, the person they send in to eliminate the threat silently, from a distance. She's probably going to run away screaming when I tell her. And I won't stop her, or blame her._

Mentally, Clint prepared himself for this possibility; it was honestly what she should do. Hailey deserved dependability and a sense of normalcy, especially since she hadn't had any after her parents died_. :If she wants to go back to the foster system, I'll have to get her a new identity. That's the least I can do. And if she won't go back…I'll talk to Tony and Pepper. If they aren't ready to take on a kid, then maybe he can set up an orphanage or something with all that money._

He'd made his decision, and with it, a sense of peace descended over him. If she wanted to stay with him after she found out what he was, Clint would do everything in his power to raise her right and keep her safe. If not, he still would do those things, but he'd do it from afar. :_Even if someone else is raising her._ Clint didn't want to do too much introspection, and right now, he was still internally shying away from words like 'father', 'daughter', and 'parent', but he knew that's what it was, if a name had to be put on it.

Clint never knew this could happen to him. That moment when you hold your child in your arms and know you'd do anything—_anything_—to keep her safe and well. Anything to make sure she grew up strong, happy, and loved. He'd always figured that instinct had by-passed him. Being a father had never been a strong desire for him, so it was easy for him to not regret giving up that part of his life for his job. That day in the alley had forever altered him, and, now, he really couldn't comprehend his life without her. It would break his heart to give her up and send her away. :_But her happiness is what matters most now._

The sound of the elevator opening behind him startled him out of his reverie. Clint jumped up from his seat on the couch to find Hailey had walked out of the elevator, mindlessly making for her room, sketchbook clutched against her abdomen like a security blanket. A mixed rush of adrenaline, joy, and nerves flooded him, and suddenly, Hailey's head jerked up, having just noticed him there. Hailey stared at him with wide eyes before she spun around, making for the elevator.

"Please don't run Hailey."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any Marvel characters; they are property of Disney/Marvel Comics.**

**A/N:** So sorry it took so long and thank you to all the people who've read and put down for alerts since I published the last chapter. You are awesome—especially the ones who dropped little reviews telling me to update soon. They do help, especially since I feel that I'm not doing my job right if people aren't asking/begging for more. And I have a good portion of chapters 8 and 9 written, so the updates should come a little faster. (Yay!)

Bethanlovesoned: More Clint/Natasha in this chapter and the next. And of course, there's always going to be Hailey & Clint time.

blondie2143: Thank you so much (best compliment I can get, ever) and I'm _so_ glad that you love it. There are many wonderful stories here, so welcome to the site (and possibly the dark side, lol). Also, thanks for the extra push!

tonysbeautifullittlefool: I'm on to you Stark. No funny business. =)

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Clint realized it had been several minutes since he heard the rustling of papers from across the room. A glance toward the couch confirmed that Hailey had fallen asleep halfway through reading her file. She had crumpled over, her head resting on the back of the couch. _:Guess we'll finish up our talk in the morning, _Clint thought, a half-smile forming on his face.

He walked over to her from where he'd been standing in the kitchenette. Careful not to wake her, Clint slid the file out from under her hands and shut it, placing it softly on the coffee table before turning back to Hailey.

Clint debated leaving her there, but she hadn't slept in her bed for almost three days, so he ultimately decided against it. He stooped over and slid his arms beneath her head and legs, scooping her up into his arms. Hailey's entire body tensed, then relaxed—with an incoherent murmur she unconsciously curled herself closer to Clint, without ever waking up. He smiled and brought her closer to him as he began to make his way across the room.

It was still way too easy to carry Hailey; he needed to get to the bottom of her eating problem. :_I carried packs every day in the army that weigh more than she does. Have to talk to her about it in the morning._

Shifting her weight to his shoulder, he balanced Hailey so he could press the button to open the door to her room. A faint nightlight turned on when he passed the door, and by its light, he walked over to the bed. Once again, he supported her head against his neck and shoulder to free up a hand to turn down the covers. That done, he gingerly lowered Hailey to the bed and eased the covers over her tiny frame, but then her eyes flashed open, alarm evident in her features.

"Hey, you're okay," Clint said, trying to soothe her he laid his hand on her arm to stop her from bolting upright. She winced at the sudden contact, but didn't shrug him off.

Seconds passed and the panic left her eyes as she oriented herself. Taking stock of her location, Hailey turned back to Clint, and asked, "I fell asleep?"

"Right in the middle of your report card from fourth grade. All A's if I remember correctly."

"It was E's in elementary school, but yeah," she chuckled before a yawn caught her by surprise.

Ruffling her hair affectionately, he suggested, "Get some sleep kiddo. We'll talk more tomorrow."

"'Bout what?"

"There's some things we need to clear up." Clint noted her mild frown and added, "Don't worry, nothing you won't be able to handle, I don't think." _:Though she's probably going to fight me on the eating._

She seemed satisfied at that answer—either that or she was too tired to argue. "Okay. See you in the morning," she murmured, her eyes already closed. Then Hailey pulled the covers halfway over her head and curled up on her side, her freckled face already relaxing into sleep.

"Night Hailey."

Clint backed out of the room, heard the whoosh of the bedroom door as it slid shut, and turned around to head to the other side of the suite where his and Natasha's room was. Twenty-five steps later, and Clint slipped back into the room. He made sure to make some noise as he padded across the carpet—a reflex after years of working with Natasha—so that he didn't end up with a bullet in his chest or a knife to his throat. Thankfully, to date, Natasha hadn't shot him; though early on in their partnership he'd scared her out of her sleep after a particularly rough mission in Minsk. He had talk down the Black Widow until Natasha lowered the gun from his temple. Back in those days it was sometimes hard to tell which person he would be dealing with on a daily basis. _:Thank goodness the Black Widow only comes out now when she's threatened or really angry. And I haven't seen "Natalia" in years. _

Since then there had been a few incidents with thrown knives on both sides: obviously no permanent damage, but those times had been enough to institute certain 'sleeping policies'. Make noise when you walk around your sleeping partner. A shake on the left shoulder means 'danger'—wake up _now_; on the right means 'everything's safe'. Never scream or yell while your partner is sleeping—unless everything's gone to hell—otherwise he or she will wake up with guns blazing.

So Clint walked around to his side of the bed, having successfully navigated the room without becoming a human target, and stripped down to his boxers before climbing into bed. He rolled over to face his sleeping Natasha—or rather his pretending to sleep Natasha.

"Everything go okay?" Natasha whispered just as he'd settled.

Clint nearly jumped out of skin, though with his training that translated to a mere flinch. She'd still surprised him. "Jeez, Nat. Thought you were sleeping."

He could hear her grin in the dark. "That's payback for the 'darling' comment earlier."

_:Figures._ Natasha never forgot, and her idea of 'even' payback was a bit different than most peoples'. Which he'd tried to explain to Tony, on why he did not want to start a prank war with Natasha—he'd never win—but he knew it was only a matter of time before Stark decided to start shit. _:Can't say I didn't warn him. He's not going to know what hit him either. _

Amused, he went back to her question, "Thought you wanted to sleep. I wouldn't want to disturb her highness's beauty sleep."

Silence: Natasha was filing that one away to get him back for later, then, "And I'm awake now. So?"

Clint propped himself up on his elbow and began.

* * *

_"Please don't run Hailey," Clint pleaded to the girl's retreating form. _

_Hailey's shoulders slumped in defeat as she halted and slowly pivoted around to face him, looking downcast and exhausted. Her skin was waxen, and those purple rings were back beneath her eyes, the ones that had disappeared a week after Clint had brought her back to Stark Tower. _:Is she not sleeping?

_"Hails, we need to talk." Clint watched as tears started to well up in Hailey's eyes. _:Poor baby._ "Come'ere." He walked forward and reached out, tugging on her wrist, gently directing her to the couch. Her resolve crumbled, and she allowed him to guide her to a seat on the couch. She curled up, knees against her chest, waiting for him to sit down next her. _

_Clint sat down and propped his feet up on the coffee table, shifting for a moment until he was comfortable, then turned his attention to Hailey. Her expression was resigned as she gazed at him, waiting for him to begin. He sighed, "Do you want to say anything first, or am I going to have to ask?"_

_Silence. _:Of course.

_"So." She gave him a blank stare. He proceeded, "Is your name Hailey-Lynne  
Davenport?"_

_"Hailey-Lynne Michelle Davenport, and yes, that is my name."_

_Clint's eyebrows shot up in surprise; he'd expected her to put up at least a token effort at an argument. He mentally shrugged it off_. :Don't knock a good thing, 'specially since she just confirmed that she actually is that Hailey with knowing the middle name._ He started again, "Did you know that you died at approximately 2AM on April 4__th__, 2012 according to the newspapers, official police reports, and files at the New York Children's Bureau?"_

_She broke eye contact and lifted a shoulder. "Don't know about all that."_

:Lie._ " I'm guessing there's a pretty interesting reason you didn't die in that fire."_

_"I guess," she replied suspiciously, trying to figure out if he was tricking her somehow._

_Clint half-smiled, having assumed she wouldn't reveal anything about that. "You are the only survivor, correct? There aren't any of your foster siblings or parents running around that have been declared dead?"_

_Hailey blanched at his words and answered barely above a whisper. "No. It's only me."_

_"Okay. So you prefer Hailey? Not Hailey-Lynne?" _:I think I know this answer already.

_Her face wrinkled in disgust at "Hailey-Lynne", and he chuckled softly, "That's answer enough. Just Hailey then." _

_Clint relaxed and looked away from Hailey to study the light-studded night Manhattan skyline out the window. Moments passed by in silence until Hailey blurted out incredulously, "That's it? That's all you want to know?"_

_With a sad smile he replied, "That's all I need to know. I have your file, from the Children's Bureau, but that only tells me so much. What happened—the rest—I hope you'll tell me when you're ready." He glanced to his left to find a bewildered Hailey, and he explained, "My main concern has been that you had a family out there looking for you, and it wouldn't be fair to them having you here and not letting them know or bringing you back to them. Now I know that's not the case." _

_"Oh." A simple word, but volumes were conveyed. Surprise, shock, distrust, sadness, and a hint of relief. She squirmed nervously, biting her lip, before she whispered, "So what all did the file say?"_

:She's probably trying to figure out if I know about psych evals._ Clint didn't want to hide his knowledge of it; he didn't see how that could be beneficial. "Did you want to see it?" he offered, already reaching for the coffee table. _

_"No, it's okay. Maybe later," Hailey replied shakily, staring at the file in question with a touch of fear in her eyes. _

_"But there is something I wanted to discuss with you," Clint remarked, his heart starting to race a bit in anticipation. Hailey looked intrigued and merely lifted an eyebrow in question. He took a deep breath. "Do you like it here? I know I didn't give much of a choice that day in the alley, and I'm sorry for that. But where do you want to be? Do you want to live somewhere else?" _:With someone else….?

_"You're rambling." _

_That caught him off guard—it was sad that it disarmed him when she showed a bit of her personality, but surprise him she did, if only for a moment. Clint took another breath and collected his thoughts. "What I mean is, do you want to stay with me?" _

_Hailey opened her mouth to respond, but Clint cut her off. "And before you answer that, I think you should know what my job is, because it doesn't exactly qualify me to be the best guardian for you. I work for SHIELD—that's short for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division—which is an under-the-radar, international organization dedicated to monitoring and subduing threats to Earth, whether they be terrorist, terrestrial, or…inter-galactic in nature. My job as a SHIELD agent is espionage and protection details, but I have a rather specific skill set." _

_Clint paused. He'd long ago tussled with himself over the ethics of following someone's orders to kill. Clint had made his peace with himself and his talent years ago after joining SHIELD since, aside from archery competitions or hunting, his shooting skills were rather worthless, unless used for eliminating targets. With SHIELD at least, he wasn't working for any one man, he was under the employment of an organization that's sole purpose to protect the people of Earth from harm. Before, he'd done the mercenary route for a brief time, but he couldn't live with the guilt. Scum of the earth paid him to do their bidding, and Clint walked away from his last job as a freelance mercenary when he'd been hired to kill a drug lord's rivals' two children that were barely out of diapers. Not long after that Direct Nick Fury of SHIELD had sent Agent Phil Coulson to recruit him; at first Clint hadn't believed that something like SHIELD could exist, but eventually he came to realize he was lucky he was being recruited instead of eliminated. _

_Face settled into a mild frown, Hailey waited, with evident impatience for Clint to continue. Another deep breath in and…_

_"I'm an assassin. My codename is Hawkeye, and my specialty is long-distance hits, with a bow and arrow. I was one of those fighting during the alien invasion in May. Natasha is my partner at SHIELD."_

_"So does that mean now that you told me, you'll have to kill me?" she joked, though there was an odd emotion hiding in her eyes. Clint couldn't quite identify it._

_Clint wasn't sure what he was expecting; at best, recoil when he told her that he was an assassin. At worst, she ran away screaming. But here she was, making a joke about it. _:Is that a healthy response? I don't think so._ Hailey's face lost its goofy expression when he didn't laugh. She seemed to cave in on herself, shrinking away from him._

_Finally he found words. "It doesn't bother you…That I kill people as part of my job?"_

_She gave him a funny look, like he was talking crazy. "You kill the bad guys, right?"_

_Hesitation on his part before responding, "I guess. Yes."_

_"Police officers and soldiers have to kill people too, to protect others. Is what you do _that_ different?" _

_That blindsided him a bit: enough that he didn't have an immediate answer_.. :Well...no. Except my targets don't have a chance to escape. Nor are police and military assigned to sanctioned hits by an organization that has more secrets than any government intelligence agency._ But it did give him a new point of view to think about. One he really hadn't considered. _

:Huh_. Clint looked at Hailey in wonder; she peered back at him with concern. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing seemed appropriate. Hailey clearly had a different view of the world and his place in it then he'd anticipated. She thought he was a hero; he couldn't bring himself to tarnish that image. _:I don't think I'm _ever_ going to think of myself as a hero. Too much red in the ledger.

_He cleared his throat, brushing over Hailey's lingering question, "But do you really want to stay with me? I have to leave for days, weeks, and sometimes months at a time for my job. It's dangerous, and you'd probably be better off having someone else take care of you."_

_"Oh," Hailey whispered. Her face fell with some realization known only to her._

_Baffled by her sudden mood change, he queried, "What is it?"_

_"I get it. You don't want me." Her voice was low, hard as flint, though Clint could see that was bravado. She was fighting back tears. And in that moment, Clint had his own realization: this wasn't the first time Hailey had said those words. He resolved to make it her last, no matter what._

_"Hails, that's not it at all." His voice broke on that. _:_Shit_, I'm screwing this up._ A knot in his chest, Clint ran his hands through his hair, watching Hailey's eyes brighten with unshed tears. It was time to own up to things he'd been shying away from. _:All or nothing.

_"I consider you my daughter. Nothing's ever going to change that. I want what's best for you…and I just don't know that I'm it. I have enemies, because of my job—people that wouldn't hesitate to hurt you to get to me. I just don't want anything to happen to you." _

_She looked up at him, eyes glistening with a mixture of ebbing tears and distrust that warred with the spark of hope. The hope that someone actually wanted her, unconditionally._

_Clint reached out for her and brushed a lock of curls from her eyes and tucked in behind her left ear. "I want you, okay? I want you to stay with me. We can be a family, if that's what you'd like." _:It's certainly what I want.

_"I want…I wanna stay. Please." Her words were pleading—desperate—and colder men than Clint would have caved beneath their power. _

_Clint's heart didn't even give him a choice; this was _his_ little girl, and he would do whatever it took to keep her happy and safe. _:Anything._ He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and drew her closer to his side before whispering, "I'm not going to send you away if you want to stay, unless it gets too dangerous for you. But even if it comes to that, I'll _never_ abandon you. Okay? _Never_."_

_Still dubious, she nodded, but buried her face into the crook of his neck. Clint stroked her hair lightly, listening to muted hiccups every few seconds: no doubt from Hailey trying to contain her sobs._

_They sat unmoving in silence for several minutes until Hailey shifted and peered up at him with suspiciously red eyes and uttered quietly, "Could I see my file now?"_

_Clint elected not to comment on her eyes or change of heart on seeing the file. He simply reached over to the coffee table—an arm still wrapped around Hailey—and picked up the folder. He handed it to her; she took it, leaned back against the couch, and opened the file, laying it across her bony knees. _

:Better give her a few minutes_, he decided and stood up to make himself busy in the kitchenette with getting something to drink._

Natasha lay on the bed, a pillow propped under her chest as she waited to make sure he'd finished. Clint stretched out and rested his head on his pillow just as she remarked, "You're going to have a long road, getting her to open up. Whatever happened to her, she's not very trusting of people."

_:Pot calling the tea-kettle black._ Clint grinned at the irony and chuckled as he said, "Yeah, I know. But apparently this particular breed of untrusting women is drawn to me like a magnet." He rolled onto his side and smiled knowingly at his partner.

Natasha realized what he was hinting at and simply rolled her eyes, not acknowledging the truth ringing in his words. On impulse, Clint snaked his arm out around her waist and drug her over to his side, pressing his lips to hers briefly, gauging her response. Since he wasn't currently face-down on the floor, he figured the odds were in his favor. _:Excellent._

"You not have enough fun earlier?" she asked wickedly, already knowing what was on his mind.

"I did. But you know me. I'm always up for some fun," he replied innocently. There was a pause—tense—and before he knew it, Clint was pinned to the bed, Nat's spirited eyes glowing above him.

This night certainly _was_ going well.

* * *

_(The next morning)_

"We're gonna have to lay out some ground rules though," Clint told his sleepy-eyed ward as she sat gazed out the window, sketchbook and pencil in hand.

Suspicion. "Like what?"

_:I'm looking forward to the day she trusts me completely._ Clint sighed; he wasn't entirely sure how to handle all this. He had been orphaned early on, so taking from his parents' example was out the door (not to mention his dad wouldn't have won any Father of the Year awards for how he dealt with him and his brother, Barney). He'd come to the conclusion that his best bet was to be upfront, honest, and fair, then work from there.

"Well, for starters: hiding from me. If something scares you, I want to know about it. Please don't hide. I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong. Okay?"

Hailey nodded. _:Not good enough._

"I didn't hear you Hailey," Clint asserted, hating himself a little as he said it, since he'd hated it the few times his father had said it to him. _:But it's necessary._

She looked at him point-blank and said with a surprising lack of venom, "Okay. I won't hide when there's a problem."

"Good. Thank you. Now, about your eating habits. You haven't eaten in two days and don't even bother trying to deny it. That's not healthy. You know how to break into every room in the building, so that wasn't why you didn't eat. You had ample opportunity and I left food out for after every meal, hoping you'd sneak out and eat it. Why won't you eat?"

Hailey shrugged, eyes downcast again. "Not hungry."

"And another thing, locking down on me." Clint reached over under her chin and gently tilted her head up. He brushed her bangs out of her eyes and eyed her with concern, when she started shaking. Knowing she was probably reaching her limit, he backed off. Relief shot across her face, once he leaned away. Clint sighed, _:And now she's really going to lock down on me._

To his surprise, Hailey answered him—haltingly. "It's easier. I can't think about…stuff…when I'm really hungry. I'm not anorexic or anything. I just…there's things I'd rather not think about. I know I'm disgustingly skinny, but that's better than having to...remember."

Clint blinked. _:I'm not sure if that makes it better or not._ Recovering, he responded, "You're not disgusting. But I will sleep a little better once I don't see your bones poking through you clothing when you walk. You know, maybe if you talk about what's bothering you, it wouldn't be on your mind so much. Take a load off you."

She smiled weakly at that, but didn't comment. Clint hadn't expected it to be that easy anyhow. _:She'll tell me eventually I guess._

* * *

If his conversation with Natasha hadn't convinced him about the Avengers' feelings toward Hailey, breakfast with the team certainly confirmed it.

"Long time, no see Etch-a-Sketch," Stark quipped to Hailey, referring her constant companion—her sketchbook—which she carried under her right arm. She waved to him with her free hand.

Bruce smiled and called out, "Morning."

Hailey nodded shyly at Banner, but quickly dropped eye contact, though Clint was pleased. _:Definitely progress anyways._

Steve just smiled and handed her a plate loaded down with chocolate chip pancakes. It was more than Hailey ever ate, but she took the plate with a shy smile and tucked in. The previous conversation continued, reaching outward to include Clint and Hailey, then a little later a freshly showered Natasha. Pepper had apparently flown out earlier to Washington DC: something about including the arc reactor prototype in some legislation. But she was due back late this evening. Steve had plans to wander around downtown, taking in the sites of this new world he'd found himself in. Bruce and Tony were arguing amicably over the pros and cons of using a certain type of tranquilizer in whatever experiment they were collaborating on. Natasha had just asked Hailey what she was drawing when the accented voice of JARVIS interrupted the conversation. "Sir, Director Fury is on the line. He says he needs to speak to Agents Barton and Romanoff. Apparently it's rather urgent."

Clint felt Natasha tense up beside him. _:Could SHIELD have found out about our escapade yesterday? Or is the vacation over? _

Stark shot Clint a look, silently asking for permission. Clint nodded to him, then turned to his right, where Hailey was seated, eating her pancakes left-handed while she shaded in her drawing with her right hand.

"Hails, could you go back to our rooms?" Clint requested, an edge to his voice. _:I do _not_ want Fury finding out about her. Or even seeing her._

Her head shot up, worry creasing her brow.

"Don't worry, I'll explain later."

Hailey searched his face for a few moments—apparently finding her answer—then shut her sketchbook and skittered away from the table, disappearing into the staircase.

Clint turned to Natasha, who nodded, and they rose as one and walked over to the wall video screen, Clint pressing the screen to accept the call. Nick Fury's face popped up on the screen and he nodded a greeting to both of them, then immediately launched into the discussion with, "Well Barton?"

"Sir?"

"Have you acquired an overabundance of mental health? Do you feel…well? Rested even?"

Clint grinned, and Natasha smirked—subtlety was not Fury's strong suit. His strengths lay in secret-keeping, being snarky, and generally inspiring fear and awe in most people, including the majority of his employees. This wasn't about the bust-out at the FBI building yesterday then. "You want me back," Clint stated.

"I need both of you back, together. I need to send out Strike Team Delta. There's a situation in Moscow."

Clint registered an infinitesimal hitch in Natasha's breathing at the mention of her home country, but that was something only he'd detect. She's taken plenty of missions there since her defection; more than usual as a SHIELD agent actually, because she was one of the few completely fluent in the language _and_ the customs. Somewhere deep down, Clint knew she was terrified that the Red Room would capture her and brainwash her to a previous state of mind. :_I'll never let that happen. She and I fought too hard for _this_ incarnation of Natalia Romanova._

"What about us? What about the Avengers?" Tony called from his seat at the table, ever the eavesdropper. Fury grimaced, but ultimately ignored the huge thorn in his side that was Iron Man.

"You'll get the briefing when you arrive at base. But more importantly, are you cleared?" Nick Fury's one eye bore into Clint's with an intensity normally reserved for assessing (i.e. scaring) new recruits, a task that he both cherished and despised, depending on the crop of newbies that showed up.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Clint responded, "Not yet, but there's no reason I shouldn't be."

"Well, then get yourself to Dr. Jebcowski before you come see me. If you aren't cleared, then I'm going to have to send in Beta," Director Fury ordered, a touch of dismay gracing the last sentence.

Clint knew exactly why. _:Those two in Beta should've never been promoted to a Strike Team. The idiots._ He protested, "But Strike Team Beta's all wrong for Moscow! They nearly screwed up that mission in Los Angeles, and that was supposed to be an easy in-and-out. Imagine the chaos they'd cause with a mission that requires them speaking a foreign language!"

Natasha placed a hand on his shoulder in warning and muttered through her teeth, "_Clint_."

Director Fury glared back, "Then see that you're cleared. Agent Ramos of Strike Team Alpha is on leave and Henderson from Gamma has a broken femur, so my only functioning strike team is Beta. Unless you're cleared. You got me?"

"Yes, sir," Clint replied evenly, masking his annoyance. Not particularly well though.

Natasha piped up beside him. "When did you need us?"

"Be at base late tomorrow morning. There'll be a quinjet waiting for you two at JFK early tomorrow."

"So it's not urgent then?" Clint asked. _:Why all the fuss if we don't even need to leave ASAP?_

"There will be a short window of opportunity for a Strike Team of enterprising and skilled minds two days from now. We intend to have you in place before then." Director Fury's patience was wearing thin—oddly enough that was when he'd compliment you. But watch out when he did. The next moment could be your last, or at least your last on active duty for a long time.

"See you tomorrow then," Natasha replied, as Director Fury nodded and disconnected. Natasha turned to him, eyebrows raised in jest, "I guess my vacation from you is over now."

"_Please_, you've missed me and my humor," he retorted with a grin.

"Oh yes. Who wouldn't miss knock-knock jokes and random trivial facts in the dead of night," she countered sarcastically.

"At least you don't fall asleep on watch and don't lie to me—you enjoy learning something new every night."

"Sure, but I'd much rather be learning those new things elsewhere." Her voice trailed off suggestively as she studied him with a playful smile.

_:Oh, that's how you're going to play?_ Clint smirked and stepped in closer to Natasha, until they were a handsbreadth apart before offering, "Want to go upstairs? I'd be more than happy to show you something new."

There was a wheezing sound from behind them as Steve choked on his breakfast. _:No doubt because he understood that reference_, Clint thought wickedly.

Natasha smiled coyly, her eyes over-bright with glee—she was about to spring a doozy on him. "Oh, I don't think _you_ have anything new to show me there."

_:Low blow Tasha. Challenge accepted._

"Well, if you give me a chance I think _certainly_ could prove it to you."

Her eyes glittered with a dangerous edge—dangerous only in the sense that you might end up with some unexplainable bruises (that were _so_ worth it)—but replied lightly, "Perhaps after we finish breakfast?"

Clint bowed mockingly, showing her to the table. Natasha sauntered back and took her seat. Bruce had his head buried in his cup of tea, trying (and failing) to hold back laughter. Tony sat there, a perplexed expression on his face until he finally admitted, "I really can't tell if you two have this elaborate scheme to mess with my head, or not."

"You caught us. We've been sleeping in the same room, sitting next to each other at every meal, and openly flirting in front of you as a ruse. We're not together. I don't even like him most days. It was all a master plot to f*ck with you Tony." Natasha delivered it perfectly, with just enough sincerity and sarcasm to further confuse the hell out of Stark.

Tony stared at them in silence, his brain working into overtime trying to decipher Natasha's words and tones. _:Good luck with that buddy._ Natasha returned the eye contact with a bland expression, giving Stark nothing to go on.

Still flushed, Steve changed the subject. "So you need us to look after Hailey while you're gone, right?"

"If it's not much trouble," Clint started, thought honestly, he didn't know what he'd do if they wouldn't watch her. But Bruce and Steve never let him finish.

Steve cut in, "No trouble at all, you know that. She's a sweet kid."

"We'd be honored," Bruce said with a soft smile, looking up from the notebook he'd been scribbling notes into.

Tony made a disgruntled sound from the end of the table and semi-whined, "I guess _my_ opinion doesn't matter here."

Steve gave him an exasperated look and motioned to himself and Bruce. "We don't need your permission to watch her. Plus, you adore her. You'd be lying if you told us you weren't already planning a million things to keep her amused while Barton is gone."

Tony and Steve had a stare-down—their expressions defiant and dubious, respectively—which ended with Tony's announcement of, "It's settled. We've got baby-assassin sitting duty."

Clint winced at that; Natasha had made it very clear during that first conversation about Hailey that while she would have his back about his choices, she was not, nor ever going to be mother material. But Natasha didn't even flinch. _:Must be hiding that it's a sensitive subject from Tony, cause he'd never let it go if he knew_, he decided.

* * *

"I go back to work tomorrow. I'm not sure how long this mission is. But as soon as I get my briefing, I'll call you, okay?"

Hailey's face had fallen when he said he had to go back to work, but she re-arranged it into a neutral expression after that bit of weakness. She quietly asked, "Where are you going?"

Many people would question how smart it was to give a thirteen year-old the information of his whereabouts, but Clint never hesitated. He wanted his daughter's trust, and that meant not telling lies, unless absolutely necessary. "In Russia—Moscow to be exact. I don't know any more than that."

She nodded and mumbled, "Okay."

Clint continued, "And Steve, Tony, Bruce, and Pepper are going to look after you. Tony said he'd ask Pepper to try to stay in town as much as possible so you would quote-unquote have some girl time."

That made her smile, however slightly.

"You're not gonna fight them about eating right?"

Dark amusement flickered through her eyes, "No, sir."

That struck a chord with him, and he had to choke back a laugh, since he'd said that with those exact inflictions no too few times, including today, to Fury. It was a tone that implied she agreed, but wouldn't hesitate to disobey orders. It was a tone he knew well, hence why he and the army didn't work out too well. But his defiance of orders was limited to weaseling his way around stupid policies and unethical hits, not his health. His daughter's health was an utmost priority. "I mean it Hailey. You need to eat. If you lose any more weight, you're going to have to get that feeding tube back in. And if I hear you're fighting them about eating, I'll take your sketchbook away for a week."

Her nose wrinkled in disgust (as did his stomach) at the thought of another feeding tube, then her eyes widened about getting her sketchbook taken away. She replied with a gusty sigh, "I won't fight about eating."

"Okay." Clint had to take her word at face value. To date, she'd never lied to him. She might not have disclosed all the information, but she'd never blatantly lied. _:That has to mean _something_._

"Can you do me a favor?" she asked, a touch of apprehension creeping into her voice.

Surprised, but delighted, Clint quickly answered, "Sure. What is it?"

A hesitant smile. "Could you wake me up before you go? I wanna say good-bye." Her head was cocked to the side, some stubborn curls falling into her face, but not enough to cover up her freckled cheeks and lovely green eyes as she looked at him expectantly.

_:Jeez, laying on the adorable much?_ Clint returned the smile, "Of course. It'll be early though."

"That's okay. And…umm…are you busy this afternoon?"

Not sure where this was going, Clint asked, "No, why?"

"I was wondering if you could you teach me how to use a bow and arrow?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: The Avengers and its characters are owned by Marvel/Disney.**

**A/N: **Thank you to all my lovely followers and reviewers. Once again, I'm sorry about the wait (but I think all of you have accepted that I take forever to get new chapters written…though there's always someone who PMs me with a little nudge. Those are much appreciated.)

**Trigger warning: **Mention of rape in this chapter and increased language use in the coming chapters.

Duchess of Strumpetness: Thanks for reading and reviewing. I hope you enjoy where the story's going to go from here. I'm pretty excited.

blondie2143: Since this part of the fic is in Clint's perspective (later on it will be from Hailey's, then switch off between the two), Hailey's time with Steve, Tony, & Bruce will be mentioned only in passing, but I have many scenes that didn't make into that chapters that I plan on posting in another fic once I complete this one. The Lost Files, as it were. The time at the zoo will be there.

Theta-McBride: *smiles smugly* you shall see, you shall see. But remember, slight of hand; you're watching something happen, when something's really happening over there. That is all.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

The kick in the center of his back sent him staggering, but he caught himself before he slammed face first into the doorframe. Anger rose in him like a red tide, and Clint spun around, steeling himself for a fight, out-weaponed or not. The gun-toting goon aimed the .357 semi-automatic pistol at his head and drew back the hammer, a glint of challenge in his eyes.

_:Bring it. _Clint jerked his chin up and looked the man in the eyes. He had nothing to fear—this hired gun stood no chance against him without that gun, and he intended on relieving the man of his burden very shortly.

Noise from the room behind him caught his attention. Clint glanced out of the dark hallway into the brightly lit room occupied by more of the goon's friends: thugs hired for the sole reason that they knew how to fire a gun…and possessed a loose sense of morality. The noise hadn't come from them though, unless one of them was whimpering like a scared child.

With an unsettling grin, the man in the room closest to Clint stepped sideways revealing a hooded prisoner: female, dainty to the point of being underweight, dark brown hair, a few inches over five feet tall, and garbed in torn, bloodied, _familiar_ clothing. The girl was held by her arm on each side, the man on the right holding the cocked gun to her head. With a sinking feeling that ran to his core, Clint instinctively knew who it was.

Disbelief overwhelmed his mind. _:No! She's supposed to be at the Tower!_

So Clint didn't move because of the gun nudging him in the back—he walked forward because of the one pressed to Hailey's temple.

They had a bag over her head, but it was her—from the baggy lavender sweatshirt, to the too-skinny wrists peeking out under the sleeves, and the crazy brown curls too unmanageable to be contained under the burlap sack over her head.

His mind was reeling from this, but the working part of his mind, the part that operated calmly no matter the situation was making contingency plans. Clint was mentally calculating the distance between him and Hailey, which men he'd have to disarm so they couldn't hurt Hailey, and the number of men he would have to kill to get them out alive.

"Hailey, it's Dad. You okay?" Clint asked, an edge of desperation in his voice.

No response.

The sack was yanked off her head and Clint's stomach dropped. Hailey's eyes rolled in his direction and seemed to focus on him briefly before her head slouched to the side, her expression glassy. The look in her eyes wasn't sane. _:Please let it be drugs._ But somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice whispered, _:That's the expression of a rape victim._

Bile rose in his throat, though he was already prepared to launch himself across the room to his daughter. He just needed to wait until he was just a tick closer…

The creak of an opening door from the back of the room distracted him and what he saw hit him like punch in the gut. Four men dragged in a new victim—dragged, because the woman apparently couldn't stand on her own.

Fiery red curls, black right eye, bloodied and swollen lip, clad in a torn black catsuit—Clint had never seen his partner look like this. He didn't think it was possible for her to look like this. The Black Widow normally took over, and none of these men were a match for her._ :Please let it be an act._

"паук (spider)?"

Natasha raised her head, a defeated expression emanating from her eyes. Clint looked back to Hailey, Natasha following his gaze. Natasha blanched at the sight of Hailey, then turned her attention back to Clint. He arched an eyebrow up in question, asking silently, "Can you do this? I can't get both of you."

Natasha shook her head sadly, then looked down at her legs. Clint followed her eyes, his hopes sinking even further. Her right lower leg was twisted at an unnatural angle and her left kneecap was grossly swollen.

It was no act. The only reason she was vertical was because of the two men holding her up and supporting her full weight. The other two men were still taking no chances and had guns pointed at her head.

Clint was absolutely frozen. To his right, was his defenseless daughter; to his left, his broken partner and love.

And he couldn't do anything. He would die in vain if he attempted to save them; while he tried to get one, the hired guns would just kill the other.

Clint would happily die in this room if it meant his two beautiful girls would get out of here alive. But no matter how he replayed the scenario in his head, no one got out alive. _No one._

The man holding the gun to Hailey's head chuckled at the defeat in his eyes, drew the hammer back on the gun, and pulled the trigger. Clint screamed and jerked forward, but his captor grabbed him by the shoulder, dragging him back.

Clint lurched out of sleep, realized there was still pressure on his right shoulder, but caught himself—the hand was on his right shoulder. _:Everything's safe. _In the darkness, he could see a shadowy figure lean away from him and stand next to the bed, wringing her hands.

Clint sat up in bed, heart racing, drenched in sweat, and reached out to flick on the lamp on the nightstand. Hailey winced at the sudden light, but otherwise seemed alert and bullet-hole free.

_:Hailey? How'd she? Alive. Dream. It was a dream._ Relief swept through him, and he had just enough time to realize Natasha hadn't received an "all-clear" wake-up call like him before he jerked sideways to grab her by the wrists, expecting her to be armed with the gun or knife (or both) that slept under her pillow. She was still sleeping—looking peaceful and child-like—and he slowly let go, very confused, as he glanced back and forth between Hailey and Natasha. He finally settled on Hailey, looking at her in question.

Hailey flushed and looked at the floor, then muttered, "Sorry, I heard you scream…and I came in, and you were sleeping, but thrashing around. I figured you'd want woken up from a bad dream."

Clint was missing something. Natasha should have been flung out of sleep, morphing into the Black Widow, killing first and asking question later at the commotion. His daughter, had thankfully reached across to shake his right shoulder, otherwise he would've woken up fighting, which was odd in and of itself (since it would've been much easier to shake his left shoulder from where she stood on the side of the bed). But he was screaming? _:That _definitely_ should've waken up Nat._

Clint rubbed his eyes and said, "Thanks Hails, I'm good. Go on back to bed. See you in a few hours."

With a worried expression, Hailey high-tailed it out of the room, the door springing shut behind her. Clint turned to Natasha incredulously, who snoozed on, completely oblivious to the world. _:She must be really tired, _he decided. Clint turned out the lights and pulled the covers over the both of them, but he was awake when the alarm went off two and a half hours later—still pondering what it all meant.

* * *

"So, are we going to talk about what's bothering you?" Natasha asked from the passenger seat of their SHIELD issued sedan.

Clint hadn't gotten any sleep after his dream and could be considered mildly cranky. "What is there to discuss?"

"Well, for starters, you look like you didn't sleep."

He sighed as he stopped at an intersection, "Bad dream, then I couldn't sleep after."

Natasha wasn't letting him off easy this morning. "What of?"

"I'd been compromised."

Natasha opened her mouth to ask for further information, but promptly shut it, realizing the irony of the situation and how _he'd _never asked for details when she'd given him the same answer on the Helicarrier, right after he woke up from being cognitively recalibrated. It would eat her alive, but she'd respect his space—for now.

Clint, however, didn't feel the need to torture his partner any further this morning though, and explained, "It was a job gone bad, but I was handling it. I was just about to take out a hired gun who'd managed to get the jump on me and was holding a gun to my head. He'd been forcing me down a hallway to this kill room, but right when I went to get the hell outta there, I heard this sound coming from the room…There were more hired guns and one stepped aside; they had a hostage. It was Hailey. There was a sack over her head, but it was her."

He paused and breathed for a moment. The imagery from the next few moments of his dream were all together too vivid and not likely to leave his memory bank—ever. With a shaky start he continued, "Then one of the guys holding a gun to her head yanked the sack off…And…well, she wasn't really there anymore. I mean, she'd been…"

"Like Sarajevo?" Natasha asked deadpan, her voice and face completely devoid of all emotions.

Guilt flared, and then his brain finally made the connection between that mission and his dream, which he now realized was a horrible concoction of his worst fears and a _very_ real memory. The Sarajevo job: otherwise known as the job that went to hell and never really made its way back out. Clint gulped and swallowed bile that had risen in his throat, "Yeah. Like Sarajevo. Except when I started planning which men I'd have to kill first, to get me and her out of there, a door opened in the back, and more men drug in a limp body. Yours. Your right femur and left kneecap were busted. I couldn't get to either of you without them killing the other. I froze and then one of the men holding Hailey pulled the trigger."

Natasha didn't respond. There was no answer, no magical balm that would soothe him. Anything comforting she said would be useless and a lie, and he'd know it. Because, honestly, that was one of the worst realities of his life, Natasha's, and now Hailey's because of her connection to him.

Minutes and Manhattan city blocks passed before she spoke again, this time sounding like herself, "There are precautions we can take. Won't be perfect, but she'll definitely be safer."

Clint nodded, waiting for her to continue, but definitely feeling more reassured that it was "we" instead of just him. He'd already thought through some plans, plans he intended to act in Moscow. He knew a guy, who knew a guy that was an expert in forgeries for passports. Clint knew how to make them himself, but he wanted them to be flawless. _:Can't take any chances here._

"She needs at least three sets of passports, IDs, birth certificates, etc. and exact duplicates of those in safety deposit boxes on every continent, along with ten grand, if not more in those boxes. Then she needs to learn self-defense; even if she wasn't your daughter, she should be taught something. She's always going to be tiny and shy, which screams 'victim'. And I don't know how you feel about arming a thirteen year old, but she needs to learn how to use a gun, if not be an expert marksman."

He grimaced about the gun. _:I don't want to take away any more of her childhood._ Teaching her archery is different because for him, originally, shooting a bow was about the trick shots at the circus. Not about killing: that came later, out of necessity.

"I saw that. One day, she's going to need to get out of bad situation, and you won't be there to save her. Her success and survival could depend on whether you taught her well enough."

With a sigh Clint said, "I know. I just wanted her to get to be normal for once. Just be a kid, not a child soldier." The implied 'like we were' at the end hung in the air, until Natasha hesitantly spoke up.

"To be perfectly honest, I don't think she, you, nor I would know what a 'normal' childhood was if it walked up and smacked us in the faces."

That got a short laugh out of him, not because it was funny, but because it was so sadly, pathetically, true. They didn't speak the rest of the way to JFK airport, which gave his brain ample opportunity to compare his dream last night to Sarajevo, which was a mission he and Natasha had wordlessly vowed never to speak of again, much less reminisce. It had been a game-changer (for the better) in terms of their partnership, but it had come at a high price. A price he would've rather not had Natasha pay.

And one he'd do everything in his power to make sure Hailey never had to pay.

A nagging voice in the back of his head whispered that he hadn't been able to stop what happened to Natasha. But Clint pushed the doubting thoughts away. _:I won't let it happen. Ever. _

* * *

"Well, that certainly could've gone better," Clint grumbled from the sick bay bed of the Helsinki, Finland SHIELD ground base as the doctor exited the room, having just patched up the hole located just beneath his collar bone with stitches and bandage. Natasha didn't deem him worthy of a response; she simply glared at him over a magazine that she wasn't even interested in—oh, she claimed she was—but Clint knew better. The magazine was what appeared to be the Finnish version of Modern Bride. _:Not exactly Tasha's cup of tea._

To mess with her, "So you're still not talking to me?"

Natasha shut the magazine with a snap and turned her blazing green eyes to him. "_You_ are an idiot."

"And how is this time different from any of the other myriad of times you've told me that?"

"Because the other times you've been reckless and stupid. This time you were distracted and stupid."

Out of habit that had something to do with male hormones and needing to be right, Clint protested, "I was not dis—"

"заткнись (Shut up)! He got close enough to _stab_ you. Wasn't even a throwing knife. How did you not hear him, _see_ him coming, _Hawk-eye_?" His name was said with a certain amount of venom.

Clint fell into silence, mulling over Natasha's words. He'd been lucky; the knife missed the clavicle and his lung—just caused a bloody mess and pain anytime he moved his arm. _:Is she right?_

_"I don't like this. I think we need to retreat," Natasha whispered. Darkness had just fallen, the marks were an hour late, and the hairs on the back of Clint's neck were raised—an indicator of a situation going bad._

_Clint nodded curtly, collapsed his bow down, slung it over his back, the arrow he'd been holding to his quiver, and drew his handgun. Not his weapon of choice, but more easily concealed. _:Don't need the police notified that a man is running around the streets of Moscow with a bow and arrows.

_They were both ready to slip down into the shadows of the alley below when a car rolled up, another following suit from the opposite end of the alleyway. _:This is it._ He arched his eyebrows at Natasha, who nodded reluctantly and drew a second gun as he holstered his Glock and returned to his bow. Clint nocked an arrow onto the bowstring, but waited. He needed the marks to get out of the car, get in sightline. This mission was his—to be as quiet as possible—with Natasha here as cover and back-up for him._

_It felt good, being back out in the field. Bow in hand, Nat at his side—he was ready for anything. An image flickered through his mind, of Hailey's worried expression as they said good-bye three mornings ago, but he pushed it back. She was safe, and thinking about her before this job was over could get him and Natasha killed. _:Focus,_ Clint told himself, inhaling to clear his thoughts._

_Both cars came to a halt, facing one another in the one lane alley, headlights blazing, probably blinding each other. This would be easier than they'd anticipated then; in trying to one-up their competitors, they effectively eliminated the possibility of seeing the two SHIELD agents perched on a fire escape above them in the darkness. Natasha shifted her weight ever so slightly, wariness written on her face, and Clint suppressed the urge to try to soothe her. _:She won't appreciate it.

_Then, simultaneously, doors opened on both cars. The driver and passenger doors on first car—a new model Mercedes C class—opened to reveal a burly bodyguard and a man dressed to the nines in a tuxedo: that would be Erik Acadian, mark number one. And the second car, unless Clint was completely mistaken, was a BMW M5 Hurricane RR. _:_Damn_, I'd like to take that car for a spin. And if we work this right, that opportunity might present itself._ Clint and Natasha watched as their second mark—one Aleksi Ganerov—stepped from the vehicle, his bodyguard following suit. _

_Clint drew the bowstring back, sighted, and loosed the first arrow, which sprouted from Aleksi Ganerov's throat. He already had the second arrow nocked by the time Acadian started turning, looking for the shooter in the dark. About the same time the arrow buried itself in Acadian's eyesocket, all hell broke loose above. _That_ was why the marks were late—they had been placing men on the rooftops above the alley. And each side thought the other was responsible. _

_The alley was a storm of falling bodies, sharp cries, and the hail of automatic gunfire. Bullets pinged loudly on the metal fire escape—ricochets, since no one had figured out the two master assassins were there—but bullets kill just as well whether they're intended for you or not. _:Time to get the heck out of dodge.

_Clint and Natasha both starting scrambling down the fire escape, forgoing any attempts to be quiet in the din. _:Not like anyone can hear the rattling when World War f*cking III is going on anyways._ Neither of them even bothered with lowering the ladder; both jumped down, Natasha doing a perfect somersault onto her feet. Clint didn't attempt that, seeing as how he had a quiver strapped to his back, so he landed hard on his feet, the impact sending shocks up his legs. He grimaced as he stumbled after his partner, hoping the nerves in his feet and legs would stop screaming momentarily._

_"Rendezvous, Avenue B," Natasha called out over the gunfire, as she made her escape from the alley. The hired guns of the two men were too busy trying to kill each other with AK-47s to notice the two real assassins waltz away into the night. _:Amateurs.

_At the end of the alley, Clint and Natasha went their separate ways—they'd be harder to track—with Natasha taking the out in open approach, while Clint would stick to the shadows until he had the bow and quiver secured in his case._ :Avenue B.

_Avenue B wasn't a real street, or place. Avenue B meant Plan B. And the Plan B they'd discussed the night before was that Natasha would retrieve their belongings from wherever they'd stashed them (in this case, a dingy motel room), while Clint went back to where he'd left the case for his bow and quiver. Then they would both take taxis to the airport, before the confusion in the alley could be sorted out. And there would be confusion when the men figured out that their respective employers had died from arrows, not bullets. By the time the police managed to contain the firefight and capture as many people armed with assault rifles as they could, he and Tasha would be on the next flight out of St. Petersburg. _

_And the reason Avenue A got thrown the window? It had something to do with the fact that Strike Team Delta had to make a mad dash across the Russian countryside this morning from Moscow to St. Petersburg in a rental car that they never shut off for fear it wouldn't start up again. An undercover SHIELD operative had found them and given word from headquarters that the reigning drug lords (that also dabbled in the dealing of assault weapons) of Moscow and St. Petersburg had changed the meeting location to St. Petersburg. _

_At any rate, they wouldn't make it back to Moscow for their scheduled flight in an hour. But this mission was done, and soon enough, he and Natasha would be on their way home, safe and sound. _:Mission accomplished.

_He was two city blocks from where he'd made the hits and walking down the street when he saw two uniformed police officers leaning against the side of their squad car, chatting. Not wanting to alert them that he was carrying a gun, several extra clips, and a bow, Clint ducked down into a decent sized alley—not nearly as wide the one he'd been sitting above for several hours, but large enough to have plenty of space to walk between the garbage cans and dumpsters. In his mind, Clint was all clear. He had to cross one more street to get to where his case was stashed, then he was out of here. _:And home to Hailey. Speaking of which…

_Clint pulled out his cell phone and tapped the icon for messaging. He wrote in the phone number for the phone he'd given Hailey before leaving. Then he started on the message, -Job's done. Be stateside tom_

_He never got to finish the text. Weight hit him hard against his spine, an arm wrapped around his neck, and he had just enough time to realize he was f*cked when his assailant's knife lodged itself into the right side of his chest._

_His mind shifted into reaction mode, noting the details as his body moved instinctively, flipping he man—nay boy—over his shoulder while the knife remained firmly wedged into his chest. _:SHIELD training assessment: Assailant. Boy, in late teens, right-handed. Approximately 5'7". No gun. Clothing belonging to member of working class. Youth, trying to prove himself. New recruit of Ganerov?

_The boy had made a mistake. He should've slit Clint's throat, or snapped his neck, but his inexperience and lack of ambidexterity left him stabbing wildly into the side of the chest that _didn't_ have the heart. _:Damn I was lucky._ Clint didn't want to kill the boy, but it would cause problems if the boy was conscious and followed him. _:Or called for back-up.

:Cognitive recalibration._ Clint swung his bow off his back—not even bothering to unfold it—and slammed it into the side of the boy's head just as he'd been trying to scramble to his feet. The effect was instantaneous; the boy crumbled to the ground, slack-jawed, eyes rolled back in his head. _

_Blood staining his shirt, Clint dragged the boy's limp form behind a dumpster (more to protect him from any roving thugs than hide the evidence) and then turned his attention to the blade sunk beneath his collarbone. He yanked the knife straight out, laying the hilt in the boy's open right hand. _

:You tried_, Clint thought, not even sure if that was directed at himself or the boy. He staggered as he stood up, the blood loss and shock making him a bit dizzy. _:Really dizzy, actually._ There was a buzzing sound, like the drone of a beehive, in his ears. Belatedly, Clint noted that removing the knife had been a bad idea; he'd essentially just released the flood waters, and he had enough time to activate his dog tag before he sank against the wall, grey swirling fog encroaching on his vision. _

_:She's right. _Clint berated himself—could've, should've, would've. Begrudgingly, he admitted, "I'm an idiot."

A flicker of amusement passed over her face, which was quickly shut down for fear he'd think he was off the hook. "I know."

A brief knock on the door announced the presence of his bustling nurse. Bubbly, yet efficient, she ran this small SHIELD ward and had no problem giving a senior agent a stern lecture about safety in the field (she's raised two boys who became SHIELD agents don't ya know?) and didn't take any gruff from her patients. Particularly the men. "The doctor gave you the all clear. Just try not to move your arm around too much for the next few days. I saw that look mister, and _yes_ that means no archery. Don't make me have your partner here take your bow away."

_:Damn it all. What _is it_ with the women in my life? Or am I just turning into a huge pushover? _Scrapping together what was left of his pride at the moment, Clint arranged his face into his most charming smile and asked (flirted), "Well in that case, could I at least get some more pain meds before you send me off?"

The nurse, her name was Elina, rolled her eyes and glanced at Natasha as she murmured, "_Men_."

Natasha grinned, enjoying the moment. :_It's going to be a long ride back,_ Clint thought with a touch of gloom.

* * *

She was waiting for them in the parking garage when they arrived four days later (Clint decided it'd be better to stay away until he had healed up a little), leaning against Tony's Audi, wearing a baseball cap and her lavender sweatshirt, though it appeared she'd made some additions to the sweatshirt. Clint's eyes took in a black silhouette form of an archer drawing back a bow (someone must've gotten her fabric paint), and felt something akin to his heart melting. Not a run-of-the-mill emotion for an assassin, but one he was beginning to recognize as commonplace for a parent. She'd marked herself as his.

Hailey jumped to her feet, just as Clint put the car in park, and he barely got the door to the car shut before Hailey launched herself at him, wrapping her skinny arms around his neck. Laughing, he caught her easily and lifted her off her feet for a moment before setting her down. _:Well, that was…better than I'd ever hoped for._ He was smiling, she was smiling—everybody was happy until her eyes slid down to his right shoulder and noticed the slight bulk of the bandage beneath his t-shirt.

"You're hurt," she said accusingly, eyes tracing the outline of the bandage through the fabric of his shirt.

"It's no biggie. I've had worse plenty of times." _:Stalingrad, Paris, Lisbon, and Budapest. Oh Budapest._ Clint had about three seconds to realize that wasn't the appropriate response; he'd responded like she was Natasha, or another agent, someone who _knew_. _:Shit._

Hailey's eyes narrowed, and she gulped nervously, but didn't ask the lingering question of "How much worse?". She squirmed and cast her gaze to the floor.

Clint sighed, "Sorry Hails. That was—I shouldn't have said that."

"But it's true, right?"

_:A stickler for facts_, he thought with a mental chuckle, but responded seriously, "Yes, unfortunately. One of the risks of the job."

Scuffing her toe against the floor, Hailey mumbled, "Well, then there's nothing you can do. It was just a surprise. I thought you and Tasha were like, super agents." The last she said peering up out of the corner of her eyes, a twinkle of mischief in them.

At this point Natasha sauntered into the conversation, pulling her duffle bag out of the backseat. With a smirk, she jibed, "Well _I'm_ certainly a super agent. This old man, however, is a bit rusty."

Hailey laughed, the tense moment from earlier now gone. _:Thank god. _Clint turned to Natasha and glared mockingly.

Clint sputtered and tried to think of a suitable retort, but stopped at the sight of Hailey skipping over to Natasha and throwing her arms around the assassin's shoulders in a brief hug. That move was clearly unanticipated by his partner, judging by the eye-bulging and hesitation before returning the gesture. Hailey then skittered away, smiling, clearly happy her family—however odd and disorganized it may be—was home. Natasha's expression was poleaxed as she looked on at the girl, then turned to him with an incredulous face.

Clint shrugged, _:How I am supposed to know?_ Natasha shrugged back, but flashed him a quick smile before starting towards the elevator, duffle bag in hand. _:She's getting a little soft. Time was she'd have broken bones for someone touching her without permission. _Then he remembered the insult. "And hey, I'm not old! Last time I checked I was younger than you princess!"

Natasha spun around, eyes flicking between Hailey, who merely looked on with an innocent interest, and him, her expression asking "You told her? Is that wise?".

"Come on Tasha, look at who we live in the Tower with. I think the discrepancy between your age and your physical appearance is nothing compared to Steve being on ice for seventy years, or having a Norse god out of legend come down from another dimension and eat all your Poptarts."

His partner tried to keep a straight face, but failed after the mention of Poptarts. Her face cracked into a grin.

Hailey cleared her throat, then added mildly, "Funny you mention that actually. Cause he's here. Thor, I mean. There weren't any Poptarts, but he ate all the Lucky Charms, and pretty much everything else in the kitchen. And well, you guys know how well the Lucky Charms thing went over. He was real hungry after coming through the portal you see…Anyways, we have to order some take-out for dinner."

"When did he get here?" Natasha chimed in, as they all made their way to the elevator.

"Just this morning. You didn't tell me how big he was," she answered, with an accusing look at Clint, though in a good natured way: her eyes were smiling as it were.

Clint had to laugh. Thor had over a foot and probably over a hundred fifty pounds on Hailey. Not to mention the medieval dress and hammer that could shoot lightning at you. A rather intimidating man, particularly to someone who was wary of strangers, but Clint had a feeling Thor won her over. "Sorry Hails, didn't really think about it. But at least you know I was telling you the truth."

"Yeah." Her voice sounded funny—a bit sad, or resigned—as she reached to press the button for the elevator. Apparently no one had needed it since she came down here because the door sprang open immediately, and Hailey quickly stepped into the elevator.

Clint caught her loosely by the wrist, and she turned around to face him. Concerned, he asked, "You okay?"

"Fine."

Clint tried to read her eyes, but failed—she'd put up her walls and Clint knew well enough to leave it alone. He turned his attention the baseball cap on her head; it read 'Central Park Zoo' and had several animals embroidered onto it: a zebra, a giraffe, and lion. _:Steve must've brought back for her. _He tapped the brim, "Where'd this come from?"

Hailey's face lit up like a Fourth of July celebration. "We went to the zoo last night! It was so cool! I got to see lions, penguins, zebras, giraffes. Oh, then the snakes! They were huge! There was an Anaconda that was fifteen feet long, and the zookeeper said he was still growing!"

_:Went to the zoo? They got her out of the Tower. How did they get her out of the Tower? _Clint was dumbfounded and rightly so. Stark, Banner, and Rogers had succeeded where he'd failed._ :And I'm supposed to be the father. God I suck at this._

Natasha saved him: she took over the conversation long enough so he could recover from his shock. "What was your favorite animal there?"

Hailey fell silent for a minute, mulling over the question before responding. "I think the giraffe. Did you know they have purple tongues?"

* * *

"Greetings Hawk! And Spider," Thor boomed, bowing as he addressed Natasha, who wasn't sure how to react to that—she settled on a vague smile.

Clint moved to shake hands, but Thor wrapped him and Natasha up into a bear hug, sending lances of pain through his shoulder. He could see the smirking and amused faces of Stark and Rogers, with Banner chuckling quietly as he walked into the room from the hallway.

"Put him down! His shoulder's hurt," Hailey called belligerently from the ground. Clint noted that he (and Nat) were dangling about eight inches off the ground. Thor quickly replaced them, and Clint knew Natasha was reconsidering her previous decision not to retaliate for the bowing. She could only handle so much hugging.

"Good to see you too buddy. What brings you here?" Clint asked genially, trying to keep how much that had hurt out of his voice. _:I think I was successful,_ he reckoned, though Hailey gave him a penetrating glance before returning her attention to the god.

"Director Fury did not tell you?" Thor asked, a crease between his brows as he looked at everyone in turn. "I received word through the Bifrost of a fight approaching. Apparently Loki's reign has not been vanquished completely. Some of those under his control are still causing chaos here on Midgard." Thor's eyes flicked over Clint before continuing. "Weapons were stolen off the flying fortress before the battle with the Chitauri."

Natasha was the first to catch on. "They got hold of Phase 2 weapons?! Why aren't we leaving now?!"

Stark quipped, "You've been here _all day_, eating my food, and you don't mention this until _now_?"

Steve: "_Knew_ that was a bad idea." (meaning the Phase 2 weapons)

"You weren't told before because I still had agents gathering intell on the situation. And I didn't get final confirmation that these were the right people until Agent Barton and Agent Romanoff were two-thirds of the way across the Atlantic on a commercial flight, so I deemed it prudent to wait until the team was together again to debrief," Nick Fury declared.

"Security breach!" That was Stark, looking a little alarmed despite his joking tone.

_:Shit, Hailey_. Clint spun to his right, where his daughter had been standing, but she was gone. He looked all around the room, but she was nowhere to be found, though he could see the staircase door slowly and silently shut across the room._ :Damn she's good. She must've heard the elevator door opening._

The Avengers all turned and formed loose ranks in a semi-circle surrounding the elevator as Nick Fury stepped out with his usual air of secrets and darkness. (If any of them had thought about the formation, they would've realized that it stemmed from an unconscious instinct to protect their weakest link, Hailey, placing themselves between a potential threat and the girl's route of escape. But none of them would think of this…not until later.)

"Civilians have hold of Phase 2 weapons?" Natasha challenged, going right to the point.

Fury grimaced, "Yes. Apparently some of the individuals brainwashed by Loki managed to steal some of the weapons during the fight on the Helicarrier. Our sources say that these individuals returned to Loki's underground base in Stuttgart, Germany after the fight with the weapons, but have now moved into Bosnia. It seems they are building a weapons cache."

"Are they still under Loki's control?" Steve inquired, a hard edge to voice.

"Without Loki here to _directly_ influence them, they are free to do as they wish, but unfortunately it seems these particular individuals were chosen for their less than moral natures—they're some of the rebels responsible for the racial cleansings in Eastern Europe. And they've gotten some recruits," Nick Fury added, frowning about the last part.

Steve looked a bit baffled by the 'racial cleansings in Eastern Europe', but held his tongue, not wanting to be the odd man out. _:Another history lesson is in order, _Clint concluded humorlessly. A glance at the Norse god's bewildered expression (which expressed itself as a frown) left Clint mentally sighing. _:Guess Thor needs one too._

Fury didn't look too happy—no doubt because those weapons didn't _technically_ exist. That was a project approved by a secret council, a project that would send the rest of the world into a tailspin of panic when, _if_, they found out about them. That was the Avengers job; to make sure those weapons weren't used on a civilian population and subdue those responsible for stealing them.

The team looked at each other in turn, with shrugs and raised eyebrows being passed around, until Tony touted, "Well, Avengers assemble, then."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: The Avengers belong to Marvel/Disney.**

**Warning:** This chapter touches on the genocides/ethnic cleansings of the countries (formerly Yugoslavia) in Eastern Europe. There's no details, but in the distant future, I'm probably going to write about Clint's and Natasha's mission in Sarajevo, which won't be too pretty. What went on there wasn't pretty; I did research on this, and there are only so many pictures you can look at from Bosnia and other countries from that time.

There's a bit more language in here. Nothing _too_ horrible, but I can't imagine our Avengers would be talking about rainbows and unicorns when their mission goes down the shitter (haha, that last word was to prepare you).

**A/N: **This here's Chapter Nine, one of the last few chapters of Part 1 of this story. Part 2 will begin from Hailey's point of view (which will be quite interesting to write…for reasons that'll be explained later). Thanks to my real life Cap for creating a perfect blend of cheerleader and army drill sergeant to push me to get this chapter out in shorter time than usual. You're awesome! I have off next week from work, so I'm hoping to put the finishing touches on Chapter 10 and get it posted. In case I don't, respectively: Happy Chanukah, Merry Christmas, Joyous Kwanzaa, Happy New Year, and to those who don't celebrate, you have yourself an awesome rest of your December.

smkelover: I love new readers! I hope you continue to enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

Clint's heart sank. _:We have to leave already? _Clint had purchased a child-sized bow for Hailey in an open-market in Moscow, and he'd been excited to give it to her so they could practice archery together (seeing as how the lesson with his _weakest_ bow didn't go too well—she couldn't handle the draw weight of forty pounds). Her bow was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship—dark wood handle with light wood risers; the bow was used, but very well maintained. _:Now I'll be leaving her again, when I've just gotten back. _

_:And who's going to watch her? We're all leaving, and Pepper's out of town. _Tony appeared to be on the same wavelength. Stark gave Clint a knowing nod as he whipped out his phone and starting tapping at the screen—no doubt contacting Pepper.

Director Fury's voice claimed Clint's attention. "Agent Barton, are you cleared for work?"

Clint nodded, "Yes, we stayed an extra few days in Helsinki before we flew back. My shoulder's fine. Just need to remove the stitches."

Tony glanced up from his phone to look at Clint, "How'd that happen?"

"Nothing major. Just a knife wound," he replied lightly, making sure to avoid eye contact with Natasha, who still hadn't completely forgiven him for his bout of idiocy yet.

Tony's face scrunched in distaste—_:Or was it concern?_ —but he didn't comment further on that. Getting injured was part of the job description; he knew it as well as Clint.

Then suddenly Tony blurted out with a tone of contrived innocence, "I _guess_ I'll miss Pepper then. She won't be back until early this evening." He gave Clint a look ripe with meaning—this was directed at him. Hailey would have to stay alone at the Tower until Pepper got back.

Director Fury eyed Stark speculatively—couldn't find anything to accuse of him (at the moment)—then looked at each one of the Avengers before adding, "Alright, get your asses packed and to the airport. We don't need this situation to go critical."

Clint waited until Fury turned away, towards the elevator, before he bolted straight for the staircase and ran full-tilt up several flights of stairs. He burst through the door to his shared floor to find Hailey sitting on the couch, facing the doorway to staircase, presumably waiting for him.

"You have to leave again?" Hailey's voice was mild, unemotional, but her face betrayed her tone: she didn't want him to go.

Clint sighed. :_Not how this homecoming was supposed to go_. Clint waved good-bye to the archery lesson with her new bow and his plans of putting the finishing touches on Hailey's forged IDs for now. He'd opted to add the pictures himself, so his enterprising acquaintance from whom he'd purchased the IDs wouldn't have the opportunity to sell that picture to any third party individuals with an interest in Hawkeye's personal life. Very few people knew what Hailey looked like, and even fewer knew she was connected to Clint. _:And I intend to keep it that way._

"Yes, we just got word that we're all needed in Bosnia." Crestfallen, she fiddled with her mechanical pencil. Clint grimaced and continued, "I wish I could take you with me, but…"

Clint choked up—his dream, going back to Bosnia for a mission, Loki's mind control—it was all eerily hitting far close to home, and frankly, after his and Natasha's mission, he never wanted to go back to Bosnia, and he especially didn't want Natasha or Hailey anywhere near there, with or without Loki's possible involvement. "… but we're dealing with people who may or may not still be under Loki's influence, and I don't want you anywhere that."

"I have a bad feeling about it though, like something bad going to happen," Hailey whispered, her eyes brimming with tears she was refusing to let fall. "What if he brainwashes you again? What if he takes you away and you never come back?"

It felt like someone had just beaned him across the back of the head with a frying pan (and yes, he did know _exactly_ what that felt like—don't ask). _:How does she know about the mind-control? I never told her _I _was under it_.

Clint rearranged his face from one of shock to a neutral expression; he felt the words flow through his mouth like honey; they were effortless, comforting, and quite possibly complete lies. "It'll be okay, Hails. The whole team is going—we're all leaving in Tony's jet as soon as we're packed. It's no alien invasion—just a group of people that've collected a weapons cache. Loki's still imprisoned on Asgard."

Dubious, she retorted, "The Avengers have been assembled to take care of a small weapons cache? Likely."

_:Have to give her that_. He raised his hand, palms out, and smiled, "Fair enough. They stole a few of the weapons that are powered by the Tesseract. That's the main concern. SHIELD's director is fairly certain that the people are no longer under Loki's mind control."

Hailey nodded mindlessly, biting her lip—still holding back the flood waters. "Pepper will be here tonight…she must be taking the first flight out of Los Angeles." Clint paused before asking, "You're good to stay here by yourself for a few hours, right?"

Hailey shrugged, eyes downcast, and mumbled, "I'll have to be, if Pepper and Happy won't get back till later." But she quickly looked up and flashed him what she probably thought was a reassuring grin, but it failed his cursory inspection. A worry-line had formed between her brows, and her eyes crinkled with distress.

Clint wanted to make it all better—take away her worries and pain—but he was just a man. Not even a super-human like some of his friends. Just plain human, with all the plague of worry and self-doubting as seven billion others on the planet—who knows how many of them parents. So he wasn't alone, but he certainly felt it. He didn't know how take away that anxiety, _:But maybe distraction?_

He reached for the bag still slung over his shoulder and motioned for Hailey to come over, "Got something for you." He pulled out the recurve bow, then the quiver full of arrows and placed them in her hands. She turned the bow over in her hands, fingers running over the smooth wood of the handle. Nervously, Clint gulped and added, "It's not new, but it's really well made and the right size for you, I think…"

"It's perfect." She looked him the eyes, face lit up in an enchanting glow. "Thank you."

"You remember how to hold it and sight in, right?" Hailey nodded affirmation, now inspecting the arrows in the quiver. Clint smiled faintly, "Good. I expect you to be an expert by the time I'm back."

At this point, Natasha cleared the elevator door and called back to Steve and Bruce, "See you in a few."

"How long we got?" Clint asked.

"We go as soon as everyone's packed. Stark already called the flight crew and they're fueling up. He wanted to know if you wanted to fly, or if he should call in his pilot."

Clint debated, for a moment, then chose the easier route. "I think I'll pass on flying. I'd rather be concentrating 100% on the mission, though I'm shocked he'd let me fly the jet."

Natasha laughed, "I think he's been hacking the personnel files again. Must've found the section about you holding every sort of license for driving and flying. Better tell JARVIS, so he can relay it Tony." She glanced between forlorn Hailey and Clint, then added before retreating to their bedroom, "I'll pack for you."

He nodded and returned his attention to his daughter. "Here's some cash." Clint pulled out his wallet out of his back pocket and grabbed two twenties. "Order whatever you'd like for dinner. And Hailey, _order dinner_. I don't know if Tony has any take-out menus lying around, but JARVIS should be able to help you out there. If you need me, call or text, okay?"

"Okay."

"You know the number right?"

"Of course." She gave an amused look, like "how could I possibly forget a ten digit number?".

But it was parental word vomit. He knew she knew and she knew he knew that, but he still had to ask, still had to say it. "And you remember the codes I gave you to block your location and number?"

"Don't worry. I got it," she cut in, playing up the exasperated tone to sound like the annoyed teenager she wasn't—all with a genuine smile.

_:What did I ever do to deserve her? I could be getting that tone for real, but instead, I find Hailey._ That's when JARVIS's accented voice interrupted politely.

"Excuse me, Agent Barton. Mr. Stark wished to know if you're going to pilot the jet, or if he should call in his pilot."

Clint never knew where to look when answering JARVIS, seeing as how the voice resounded from all directions. The AI seemed so real though, it almost seemed rude not to address him—it—directly. Hailey giggling at his confusion didn't help. Finally, Clint settled on looking at the blue screen on the wall. "Tell him thanks for the offer, but I'd rather rest on the flight over."

"Very good Agent Barton."

* * *

This was their first mission as a team since Manhattan. They were down one—Banner was going to be waiting in the wings because SHIELD didn't want to unleash the Hulk unless absolutely necessary—but still, the Avengers were assembling to take on a new mission. _:It feels good. Right._ No alien race hell-bent on world domination this time; however, they were dealing with several of the people that been under Loki's spell.

They weren't all innocents that fell victim to Loki's mind-controlling powers. It seemed he had recruited some that were modeled more after him than Clint or Dr. Selvig. They were just as power-hungry and twisted as Loki—they simply lacked the magic and the means. But opportunity had presented itself on the Helicarrier, and they had seized it.

The theft hadn't been discovered until repairs and inventory tallies were started on the Helicarrier after the Battle of Manhattan. Several cases of weapons—the ones made from the Tesseract's energy—were discovered to be missing. At first SHIELD had thought the cases had somehow been destroyed during the skirmish aboard the Helicarrier, since there weren't any stories popping up in the news about someone finding a cache of odd, high-tech weapons, or a group going on a crime spree with weapons that shot out beams capable of dissolving earthly matter into oblivion.

SHIELD had written the weapons off after nothing came up, until reports of a several people being vaporized by odd guns that emitted a glowing blue light in a tiny Bosnian town showed up on their news feeds. Two agents were sent for recon and only one returned—with news that a rebel group had somehow acquired the weapons.

So now the Avengers were somewhere over the Atlantic, in Tony's private jet. _:Being a billionaire definitely has its perks I guess_, Clint mused, peering out a window to the blue-gray infinity of ocean before returning his attention to the cabin, where Natasha was briefing Steve and Thor on the genocides in the former Yugoslavia. Tony and Bruce were hunched over the doctor's composition book (again) debating whether the formula in question was correctly balanced or not.

Clint chuckled softly before thinking back to their departure from the Tower. That sobered him up quickly. _:Wish I'd _really_ gotten to say good-bye._

_"You're really leaving then," Hailey said plaintively, arms wrapped around her abdomen—a gesture Clint had learned over the months she did when she was upset: she would literally try to hold herself together. He hadn't the heart to ask her if it worked._

_"Yeah sweetie, we're going." Clint slung an arm around her shoulders—skin cold, always cold—and pressed his lips to her forehead. She wrapped her thin arms around his waist and buried her face into his t-shirt. He murmured into her ear, "I'll let you know when we land, but otherwise, you might not hear from me for a few days. But if there's an emergency, you know how to call."_

_Hailey nodded, her face oddly serene, then whispered, "I'm gonna go put my bow away. Meet you downstairs in the garage?"_

_Clint half-smiled, though a cloud of morose feeling lingered over him, as he watched his daughter pick up her bow and sling the quiver over her shoulder—she looked quite the little archer—before he walked to his bedroom where Natasha was nowhere in sight, thought the light in the bathroom was on. Moving like a whirlwind, she flew out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her head and two small duffle bags in her arms. She tossed one to him as he passed the threshold; he caught it easily and peaked inside—everything looked in order._

_"Good to go?" Natasha asked him breathlessly, which is when she yanked off the towel. Her trademark red curls bounced down around her shoulders, still damp from the dye and subsequent shower._

_"Back to red?" Clint said, asking an obvious question. He was pleased. _

_She smirked, "Yeah, sorry to ruin any blonde fantasies you might've been harboring." With that she quickly towel-dried her hair and then tossed the towel over the back of their desk chair._

_"Red's always going to be my favorite Tasha. You know that." _

_Her mouth quirked up in the corner. "I do know that." Then she tilted her head towards the door and asked, "How'd Little Hawk take it?"_

:Little Hawk? I like that. I wonder what if there's a Russian word for a fledgling or young hawk? Have to look it up later._ "Not very well, but she was trying to act tough. Pretty much what I expected. She seemed happy about the bow. Not that it makes up for anything, but hopefully she'll be entertained while we're gone."_

_His partner made no comment, only stuffed some toiletries into her bag before making her way to the door. Clint followed in her tracks, with a glance towards Hailey's room, the door of which was open to, but the lights were off; he didn't see her in there. _:She must've gone down to the garage already.

_Natasha reached the elevator first and pressed the button; the elevator dinged just as Clint walked up beside her. It opened—it was empty—but as they stepped inside they noted two other floors' buttons were lit up: Steve's and Tony's floors, both above them. So they went along for the ride up the Tower, calling out greetings to their comrades as they entered the elevator. Tony's floor was the highest, so on the way down they picked up Bruce with his worn leather bag and faintly worried expression._

_"Whose car we gonna take?" Clint asked of his team-mates. _

_Tony responded first, eyeing Thor's and Steve's sheer mass, "Better take two. The cop car and the Mercedes?"_

_Clint grinned at Tony's reference to the company SHIELD car and dug into his pocket for the keys. He estimated they'd have just enough gas to get to the airport, with a little to spare. They'd have to stop to refuel on the return trip home. The elevator opened onto the floor of the parking garage, and Clint quickly swept over the area—no sign of Hailey. _

_The others moved quickly over to the cars; Tony, Bruce, and Thor went to the Mercedes, while Natasha and Steve began loading up into the nondescript SHIELD car. Clint stood frozen, just a few steps off the elevator, baffled that Hailey wouldn't come down to say good-bye. Upset, he stalked across the garage to the car and placed his bag into the trunk with Steve's, Natasha's, and Bruce's things—the Iron Man suit took up the majority of the trunk space in the Mercedes. Clint noted that along with the one suit, there was a red and gold briefcase that matched it. _:Wonder what that is?

_Tony caught his inquisitive stare and replied with, "Back-up. That's the Mark 5. Never know when you'll need a spare."_

_Clint couldn't fault him on that view, though he hoped there were a hell of a lot of safety measure on the suits that prevented just anyone from accessing and using them. _:Surely after he had his silver suit stolen by his friend, he'd change the passcodes.

_Another glance around the garage—still no Hailey. _:Guess she's mad I'm leaving._ Clint stumbled towards the driver door of the sedan and slid inside. He could feel gloom settling over his mind. _:Damn.

_Outside, he heard Natasha holler for everyone to load up, which everyone promptly did, though of course someone had to spout off some smart-ass retort—had to be Stark (who else could it be?). Clint noted the thuds of Steve's and Natasha's car doors closing and then started up the engine. He waited for Tony to pull out of his parking space and begin to drive out when he saw a flicker of movement in his rearview. Standing inside the elevator, Hailey waved through the open doors of the elevator—the small silver cell phone in her hand—just as Clint cell phone dinged the arrival of a message. It read, "Bye. Be safe."_

_Clint put the phone down, rolled down his window, and raised his hand in farewell as he drove out of the Tower after Tony, though his eyes never left the receding figure of his daughter. _:Miss you already Hails.

Steve's voice called him out of his ponderings. "I think we'd better go over our mission briefing." Nearly everyone got up and gathered around their Captain, who was seated at a round table containing some of Stark's tech in its core.

"How do you want us to approach this Cap?" Dr. Banner asked from his bench seat at the back of the jet, looking to have a touch of nerves. Probably had something to do with being in a pressurized metal container with five of his best friends, flying at 35,000 feet.

Frankly, replays and very vivid recreations of the Helicarrier incident had crossed everyone's mind at some point during the flight, but the rest of the Avengers knew better than to bring it up—Banner still blamed himself for losing control and nearly killing Natasha. But everyone kept on eye on Bruce, discreetly of course, not that watching him would solve anything. Clint kept himself between Natasha and Bruce, instinctively at first, but even after he realized this, he continued it. _:The Hulk will have to go through me first._

And Clint realized how very much Natasha was stuck inside her head at the moment, when she didn't scold him for shielding her. The others wouldn't notice what he was doing—he was top-notch spy after all—but Natasha was the _best. _She could out-espionage him any day, and it was telling of how uneasy or worried she was about this mission that she didn't notice. _:I'm going to have to get her alone before we go out there. _

Steve's response broke through Clint's train of thought. "I've got some ideas. Let me just bring up the reconstruction of the warehouse." The super-soldier started pressing buttons on the table in front of him—which contained a holographic projector—then shot Tony a helpless look when nothing appeared. Stark rolled his eyes at Steve's WWII knowledge of tech, but wordlessly stalked over and brought up the image, spinning it around a few times, then zoomed in and out to show Steve the ropes—again. He nodded to Tony in thanks before returning his attention to the image of the warehouse.

"Alright, so SHIELD agents have gathered information—last report says the warehouse is stocked with your usual assault rifles, munitions, possibly some low grade explosives, but the catch is that six Phase 2 weapons are confirmed missing from the Helicarrier. The agents didn't get visuals of the weapons, but one did track these men from Loki's underground base in Stuttgart to the town about 80 miles east of Sarajevo, right on the Croatia-Bosnia border.

"Apparently, the town is rather small—nearly a village—though it's the largest in the area, and this rebel group has set up there, right on the outskirts. So far, it appears the villagers are unharmed, but the group has been recruiting. It's only a matter of time before they stop recruiting and start fighting. The rough estimate on the number of rebels is about fifteen to twenty, two of which are suspected war leaders from the ethnic cleansings of the 90's." (Clint had to suppress a smile at Steve's air of nonchalant authority regarding a subject he'd learned the highlights of not a few minutes earlier.)

"I think our best bet is for Agent Romanoff and Stark to take the south side, with Thor and me on the north. Agent Barton will be up on the building closest to the warehouse—our eyes from above—until we get into position, then he'll go in from the ceiling hatch. Dr. Banner, we'll have you in the wings, unless something goes wrong. From what I understand, the doors on the ground floor we're trying to penetrate are reinforced, but nothing a little lightning or a few missiles won't take care of."

Thor and Tony grinned savagely at this and fist-bumped (_:When did Thor learn _that_?_), which left the genius shaking the soreness out of his hand when he thought no one was looking. Clint mentally chuckled, thinking, _:Saw that buddy._

Having shaken out the kinks, Tony piped in, "I still say something's off. You don't need the Avengers to wipe this up. All of us have taken out more single-handedly. Why assemble the whole team?"

Shrugs and muttered "dunno"s were passed back and forth until Natasha spoke up, "I don't think Fury's calling the shots here. The council was pushing the Phase 2 weapons. So it's the Council members whose asses are on the line if civilians are killed by a rebel extremist groups using SHIELD weaponry."

Clint couldn't have said it better himself. _:But hopefully this will be easy, and we'll all be on our way home soon_.

"And what an _awesome_ council they are, sending in a nuc on a civilian population," Tony muttered. No one knew exactly how to respond to that—there's no good response to that, especially when it was true. And no one knew better than Stark how true it was. There was an awkward silence before Steve spoke up, changing the subject.

"Anyone here been to Bosnia?" Steve queried, clearly wanting some local knowledge. "How willing are the locals going to be to give us some information? Or give us up?"

Clint felt Natasha wince beside him; he covertly wrapped his hand around hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. _:This will _not_ be a repeat of Sarajevo._ Clint cleared his throat lightly and raised his free hand. Steve saw, and asked, "You've been?"

"We were in Sarajevo during the sniper siege…and frankly, hoped we'd never have to go back," Clint replied evenly. He drew in a calming breath, "How the locals react to us depends entirely on how the townspeople have been treated, if any of the rebels are family, what the dominant religion or ethnicity the villagers are, and if there's a difference in ethnicities between the rebels and the villagers. They'll definitely protect their own though."

Steve frowned, "That's what I was afraid of. Stark, can you see about getting us some demographics on the town? Not sure of the name, but we've got coordinates."

"Sure thing Captain," Tony replied with the barest hint of sarcasm; Steve's face took on a pained expression that quickly turned to surprised (along with everyone else's except Thor) when Tony immediately pulled up a screen and consulted with Jarvis before tapping and swiping away at the digital image, with Thor looking on in interest and asking questions every few moments until finally Tony flipped the screen to face the demi-god, then got up and promptly sat down next to him to better show Thor what he was doing.

_:Well, that was remarkably un-Starkish. Usually puts up more of a fight than that. _

Steve turned to Clint and Natasha, "I think you two should go in first, get the lay of the land before we strike."

"We don't know the language. We're going to stick out like sore thumbs," Clint countered, with Natasha nodding her affirmation. "And something tells me that a stranger, even one that speaks the language, is going to be noticed immediately in a town this small. It'll be risky if the rebels are family."

"We'll have to do this with what we've got," Banner said, entering in his own two cents.

Steve sighed, then said, "Alright, codenames for the comm-links. What does everyone want?"

Stark jumped up from his research like a kid on Christmas morning, excitement evident from his animated facial features. _:Oh boy, here we go. _

"We have Thunder-jam here (pointing to Thor). Mr. Green (Bruce seemed amused by this choice), Cadet (cue Steve's baleful stare in Tony's direction), Arachnophobia (Natasha rolled her eyes at that), then me, everyone knows who I am—I'll just stick with Iron Man." Stark turned to Clint, a devious smile on is face. "And then we have Merida."

"Really Stark? A fourteen-year old Scottish princess? That's the best you got?" Clint asked, half-laughing. The other joined in various forms of chuckles, snickers, and all-out laughs, with Tony deflating like a balloon.

Once the laughter subsided, Natasha said, "Clint and I usually just go by Hawk and Spider. I think Steve should stay Cap. Thor, do you want Thor…or Thunder? Bruce, Mr. Green, and Stark, we might as well call you Iron Man. No one else would be flying around in that flashy of a suit."

Tony's nostrils flared, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you're a bit more ostentatious than the rest of us."

"Hmm…fair enough," Tony conceded amongst the laughs of his teammates.

"Alright, now on to the question of the century. How did you get Hailey out of the Tower?" Clint asked, his curiosity finally getting the best of him.

Steve and Bruce both rolled their eyes good-naturedly and looked in Stark's direction, who appeared to be gloating. _:_Really_? It was Stark? My bet would've been Rogers. This oughta be good._ Clint motioned to him, "Well?"

Tony smirked, "Well, for the first few days we all tried to get her out. MoMA, Musuem of Natural History, Empire State Building, three different zoos—everything she wants to see but won't. Then Pepper reminded me that Stark Industries regularly contributes to the Wild Animal Park in San Diego…so I didn't see any reason why we couldn't make a contribution to the Central Park Zoo. So Stark Industries made a donation, and I asked if it would be possible to get a private tour of the zoo. Since the zoo couldn't shut down just for us, they agreed to a night tour."

"How much did you have to…?" Clint trailed off. _:Jesus, what'd Stark spend on this? Can I even pay him back?_

Tony waved it off, "Nothing substantial. Definitely worth it."

_:What's substantial to a billionaire? Good grief_. Composing himself, Clint replied, "Thanks Tony, I owe you one."

Then Natasha spoke up, arms crossed in front of her, wearing a dubious expression, "And she was okay? I mean, she freaked out before when people _mentioned_ her going outside."

Steve answered, concern on his features; he cared about Hailey like a little sister. "No, it took some convincing. And when we finally got her to agree, she shook and sweated the entire drive there. It was better once it was just us and the zookeeper, but she never completely stopped shaking. Aside from that, she seemed to enjoy herself."

_:Sounds about right. _Clint queried, "Did she say anything? I mean, if something was bothering her?"

All three men shook their heads, before Bruce said in his quiet way, "Whenever we asked her if she was doing okay, she just told us 'fine', though on the drive there and back she looked like she was seconds from a nervous breakdown."

That wasn't an exaggeration either. _:Though her going to the zoo is progress. Wish I thought of taking her out at night…if that's the solution. Maybe because there's less people?_

Natasha echoed his thoughts. "Agoraphobia?" she murmured, almost to herself, though all the others heard it.

The Avengers' faces ranged from thoughtful to bewildered, which left Clint wondering if Asgardians had names for anxiety disorders. _:Someone'll have to update Thor on that._

"Possibly. That's what it looks like anyways," Clint replied. "But without her actually telling us what's going on in her mind? Can't be sure."

The conversation feel into silence as each Avenger mulled over their respective thoughts. _:I'm such a failure. She's _my_ daughter, and I couldn't even get her out of the Tower! I really wish she'd just tell me what scares her. I can guess, but that's gotten me jack-shit. She seems interested in archery. Maybe I can find an archery club for her to join, with kids her own age? But then again, she wasn't talking to anyone for years up until I found her. What if she won't talk to anyone? And what about school? School starts in September. How is she going to attend school if she never leaves the Tower? _

_:Shit, this is harder than my job at SHIELD. And twice as terrifying. What if I screw her up? Ugh._ Clint sat down on a bench, his head cradled in his hands.

Clint sensed Natasha take a seat next to him: this was confirmed by the light rush of air carrying her distinct scent.

"You're not doing as bad as you think you're doing," Natasha whispered gently. Clint shot her a glare, to which she retorted, "Seriously Clint. You knew it wasn't going to happen overnight. It'll work out. I turned out okay, right?"

"Not the same thing Tasha," he grumbled. Clint cast a glance around the plane cabin to see if anyone was listening, but everyone was preoccupied with their previous tasks: Steve to looking over the paper file on the mission, Tony and Thor to the research on the town, and Bruce to scribbling in one of composition books.

"Not the same? Really? You bring a girl with serious trust issues and a deteriorated mental health out of a horrible situation and try to reintegrate her into your world. You feel responsible for her, even though you have no binding connection to her. No matter how much she pushes you away, you stick around, because somewhere deep down, you want or need to save her from herself. Two different kinds of love in our cases, though ultimately the same result. You kind of have a hero-complex Hawk-boy."

_:Did I just hear Nat say "love"? What? Should I bring it up? No—better not._To break the tension (at least on his end), Clint snorted, "Hawk-boy? Haven't heard that one in a while."

Natasha shrugged, smiling, as she pushed off the seat and headed to the mini-kitchen at the back of the plane. "Anybody want something to drink?" she called over her shoulder, which was met with a chorus of "I'm good" and "no thanks".

Clint turned his gaze out the window, thinking, _:Nothing I can do about Hailey now, anyways. She's thousands of miles away. _He was jerked out of his thoughts by a glass tumbler half-filled with whiskey (Jameson if he wasn't mistaken) being shoved into his sightline. _:?_

"You need to get out of your head. Have a drink, brood, sulk—do whatever you need to before we land, but we need—_I need_—Hawkeye, not distracted Clint Barton. Get it done," Natasha snapped softly before walking away to join Tony and Thor.

_:Great._

Dumfounded since he'd thought _Natasha_ was the one who needed talking to before they landed, Clint knocked back the drink. _:Turns out she was just worried about me. I _really_ need to find a balance between work and Hailey._

* * *

The rest of the flight had been uneventful. They'd landed in London-Heathrow, refueled and then took off for a shorter jaunt to Vienna, Austria, where they left Stark's jet. The Avengers transferred over to a SHIELD quin-jet (equipped with its very own pilot) that was waiting for them, which they flew in to the mountains several miles from the rebel's base town. The quin-jets were specifically designed not be picked up by any radar and to be super quiet during flight. These features allowed the Avengers to be dropped off in stealth, so that they could come in silently from the forest, to surround the weapons warehouse and infiltrate it. It had taken several hours to get everyone in position, and they were finally ready to strike.

: "Hawk, see any guards on the south side?" Captain America asked over the comm-link. Clint scanned the building, tracking the patterns and shadows, until he locked on a heavily armed, but heavily distracted individual: the man appeared to be fiddling with a cell phone.

: "Affirmative, one guard, armed and uh, never-mind. The guard's taken care of." (Hawkeye) Clint looked on with a hint of pride as a figure clad in a black leather catsuit dragged the now unconscious guard out of sight.

: "Spider?" (Cap)

: "Guard subdued. Iron Man, I need you here to get through the door. Reinforced steel." (Widow)

: "All you have to do is ask dearest." (Stark)

: "Can it Iron Man." (Cap)

Clint gritted his teeth at Tony's words, but laughed silently as he imagined Natasha's reaction to the remark. _:Probably plotting a way to dump out his most expensive scotch and replace it with iced tea._ He watched Iron Man shoot out from the tree-line of the eastern boundary of the village, making for where Natasha was concealed. Clint started moving along the roof, getting in position to make his bid for a rooftop entry while they stormed in from the ground floor.

: "Everyone's in position Cap." (Hawk) Clint reported into the comm-link, already sighting in on the roof hatch, where a guard was waiting inside. Thor and Steve were hidden in a building to the north of the warehouse, along with Bruce, who would remain there, unless this mission took a turn for the worst.

: "Alright, on the count of three. One. Two." (Cap)

The resounding boom sent Clint staggering dangerously close to edge of the roof on the west side of the building. There was a dull ringing in his ears, and he realized that his hearing was all but gone. _:Shit!_ Clint shook his head violently and gradually his hearing returned, though the ringing was still present.

: "Man down! I need back-up, _NOW_! (Widow)

: "I'm coming!" (Hawkeye) Clint sprinted for the side of the building, selecting for grappling hook head on his arrow. He felt a searing pain in his left leg as a bullet tore through muscle and sinew, and suddenly he was on the ground, his leg having been shot out from under him. He turned back to see men pouring out of the hatch, all armed with cold, black pistols. _:Shit, _he thought, as he half scrambled, half-dragged himself behind a rooftop AC unit. Relatively safe for the moment, he whipped out a gun from a holster on his left thigh, his right hand trying to dial his quiver for standard arrowheads. Bullets hit the AC unit with metallic pings, but none were going through, and the armed hostiles weren't quite brave enough to try to sneak around it yet.

: "Be there in a minute. How bad?" (Cap)

: "Can't check. Doing everything not to get overrun. Running out of ammo." (Widow)

: "I'm hit. Getting overrun too." (Hawkeye) Clint leaned around and unloaded a full clip from his gun before propping himself up to start taking on sniper shots with his bow.

: "Iron Man do you co-? Wait, you're hit Hawk? Banner, suit up! Stark do you copy?!" (Cap)

: "*sigh* Just a moment." (Hulk)

: "He's unconscious. Arc reactor's still lit up though." (Widow)

: "Well this is a clusterfuck." (Hawkeye) The half-dozen men that had originally poured out of the hatch onto the roof were down, but more men clad in Kevlar vests armed with AK47s were clambering out to replace them.

: "*snort*" (Widow)

: "Mother of-!" (Cap)

: "Cap?" (Hawkeye/Widow)

: "I just—ugh—they're blocking us." (Cap) A roaring in the background of the comm-link (and the darkening of the clouds above) announced the arrival of the Hulk and Thor calling down lightning. "If you can hang in another minute Hawk, we'll come over the roof and grab you on the way to you Spider."

: "Not life threatening, but hurry, running out of arrows." (Hawk) Clint's supply was dwindling, but he wasn't too worried. Not like this hadn't happened before—he made do.

: "Uh, guys. They don't _just_ have the dark energy guns." (Widow) A sonic boom followed that comment, and all Clint could see was smoke, dust, and rubble in place of where Natasha had been fighting over Tony.

: "Nat?!" (Hawk)

: "Romanoff, do you copy?!" (Cap)

: "*coughing* I'm okay. No, shit *coughing* I'm pinned. I-I can't see Stark. Shit. Oh _shit_." (Widow) A second boom that rivaled the first went off, spewing more debris into the air, the shock wave knocking him and all the others on the roof onto their faces, or asses, respectively.

Unmanageable fear seized his chest. _:Natasha._ Leg and armed men be damned, Clint jerked himself upright, fired three arrows, then bolted for the edge of the roof, only to remember as he skidded to the edge, his quiver wasn't no longer set to a grappling hook. _:Fuck._ Clint waited for a hail of bullets to send him into oblivion, but realized the booming he was hearing and feeling now weren't more explosions—they were footfalls. The Hulk was making short work of the men on the roof and was conveniently, or intentionally, blocking him from any bullets.

He didn't waste any time watching the Hulk; Clint's fingers were already dialing the quiver for a grappling hook, but his eyes were seeking for any splashes of red: the Iron Man suit, Natasha's hair, or blood. A mechanical click confirmed the changing of the arrowhead, and he launched himself over the edge, twisting in air to shoot the hook into the edge of the roof.

Rappelling down the rope, he quickly reached the ground and detached himself from the rope when a streak of red blazed over his head, catching his attention. _:What the?_ If he hadn't known better, he would've thought it was Stark. A glance skyward confirmed it. Iron Man sputtered and jerked around a few times—the suit had apparently sustained some damage to the control system; Clint could see the suit was crumpled up on the limbs—probably from being crushed under some debris. Hovering in air, Stark released missiles from both shoulders of the suit and sent them at the warehouse. One landed on the roof near where he'd been attempting to hold off the men coming through the hatch.

: "Iron Man's back in action. I repeat Iron Man's back in action," Clint crowed into the comm-link. _:Maybe we'll actually salvage this job._ Steve apparently thought the same thing.

: "Stark, help the Black Widow make a retreat. Thor and I will get the Hawk." (Cap)

: "That's not Stark." (Widow)

: "Come again?" (Cap)

: "What the fuck's that supposed to mean?" (Hawk) Clint was only a beat behind Steve in asking. _:What's she mean? He's right there._

: "I'm trapped right next to Stark's _fucking_ body. _That's_ not Stark." (Widow)

: "Then who?" (Cap)

Clint was hit with an awful sinking feeling, and he couldn't be sure if he wanted to scream, cry, or vomit more. The suit wasn't jerking around because it had sustained damage to the control system; it was the out-of-control flight of someone who'd never flown in it before.

And there was only one person it could be. The one person in the world he never wanted near a situation like this. _Ever_. The only person who could and _had_ figured out Stark's technology. _:No…_

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Why is Stark acting so un-Starkish? How did Hailey get to Bosnia? Will Clint ever figure what Hailey's hiding? Is Clint ever going to figure out how to shut off his personal life when on the job? What happened in Sarajevo? How does Hailey know the things she knows? Where did Thor learn to fist-bump? _

_Stay tuned to learn these answers and more!_


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: The Avengers belongs to Marvel/Disney.**

**A/N: **I'm so sorry for the longer than usual delay. I started a full load of classes but should hopefully be back on track with writing now. Thank you to all who reviewed and signed up for alerts since the last chapter!

I'm pleased in a mischievous fashion that everyone thinks Stark smuggled Hailey into Bosnia. I wouldn't put it past him, but our endearing genius is innocent for once. I think Clint would've killed him if he had been responsible.

**FYI:** In my mind (and thus this story), Clint and Natasha had met/had a quasi-relationship (based mostly on some memorable one-night stands) before Clint was sent to eliminate the Black Widow; most importantly, no one knows about this, except for Coulson. I one day hope to write the prequel to this, but that's your history lesson for today.

GiraffePanda2: Thanks for the review and I'll answer some of the questions (in a vague roundabout way). 1. That's an interesting idea, but no. Stark has some other stuff going on. No one knew about Hailey being in Bosnia with them. 2. Partially in the Iron Man suit, but not the whole way. 3. Yes, a few chapters from now. 4. He will learn the balance, but a lot of it hinges on what Hailey's hiding. 5. Indeed, shit went in Sarajevo. 6. This question will be answered by the answer of question 3. 6. The fist-bumping may or may not have resulted from Thor's exposure to one Darcy Lewis, master of the Taser.

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

: "It's Hailey." His voice broke over her name.

: "_What?_!_ How_?!" (Cap) Steve's voice was pained; he was scared for Hailey too.

: "We need to get her out of the sky. That wasn't their last surprise. She's making herself a huge target." (Widow)

: "Hailey?! Can you read us?! Fall back, get away from here!" Clint's voice was loud and desperate and filled to the brim with the panic of a scared father. He vaguely realized he was running toward her, though he had no clue how he was going to get Hailey's attention, being that she was a hundred feet up in the air. He started waving his arms.

: "Ложись! (Get down!)" (Widow)

Thank goodness for reflexes. Clint hit the deck; he was the only one who that could be directed at, since he was the only one who spoke Russian. Next thing he knew, a blue light blasted away a few scant feet from where he lay sprawled across the ground, and he immensely thankful for his military and SHIELD training in that moment. Because of them (_:And not my brain_), he was alive. Then the sound of the Iron Man suit thrusters rocketing closer reached his ears, and Clint looked up in time to see his daughter skid shakily to a stop twenty feet over his head.

She paused long enough to aim a rocket that popped up out of the suit's right forearm and send it careening into a window—presumably where his assailants had shot from. They were no more. That portion of the building was now crumbling; Hailey had shot up one hundred feet, then stopped, her head swiveling from side to side. _:What is she doing? She's a sitting duck!_

A cannon blast from an upper window on the southeast corner of the building blossomed blue light that lingered for a moment, condensing. Clint pushed himself up, for all the good it did, and screamed for Hailey, but it was too late. Luckily, Hailey saw it at the last minute, put everything into the thrusters, and was hit by the blue light across the legs instead of square in the chest.

Between the power of the accelerating suit and the impact of the cannon, Hailey was sent into a tailspin toward the earth. Clint saw a flash of green fly off the roof—at the same time, Hailey released the last of the Iron Man suit's missiles—and mere moments before she would've hit the ground with a sickening crunch, the Hulk snatched her from the air, clutching her to his chest. Behind them, the missiles found their targets.

A series of explosions went off, each progressively louder and stronger than the last, each taking down more of the warehouse, until the last, which leveled the building. The shock wave from the last blast sent several people sailing off the roof—Captain America and Thor among them—and the Hulk leaped up to snatch the soldier from the sky with his empty hand amid the falling rubble. He was quick to set (though set isn't quite strong enough to describe how he put Steve down on the ground) the super soldier on his own two feet. It was a testament to Steve's super strength and agility that he stayed on his feet. Hailey was still snugged close to him.

Then Clint was running, limping, toward his team, his daughter, and his partner.

: "Nat?" Clint was torn in two, wanting to check on both Natasha and Hailey at the same time.

: "I'm okay. The second blast knocked the stone off me and a big piece of wall kept most of the rubble off us, but we need dug out. And I can't carry Stark in his suit by myself." (Widow) Clint breathed a sigh of relief at her answer, the guilt easing a bit as he skidded to stop in front of the Hulk who was staring at the limp, albeit armored, body in his arms.

: "On my way. Not sure exactly where you are though. Any landmarks I should be looking for?" (Cap)

: "I was in the outdoor hallway near the staircase. Not sure if that's what it looks like anymore, but…" (Widow)

: "I can see the remains of some stairs, let me know when you can hear my voice." (Cap) "Natasha? Natasha?"

: "Nothing yet." (Widow)

Now that Natasha was in capable hands, he turned his attention to the green goliath in front of him. He looked into the Hulk's (_:Banner's?_) eyes, hoped he wouldn't get punched like Thor, since in this moment, he was feeling decidedly mortal next to the Hulk's sheer size and brawn, but hell, he wasn't backing down. That was his daughter in the arms of the creature that had trashed Harlem, the Helicarrier, and part of lower Manhattan.

Clint maintained eye contact and said, "Okay. You can put her down now."

The Hulk eyed him suspiciously, grunted, then carefully placed Hailey on the ground. Clint dropped to his knees next to the Iron Man suit and began prying at the helmet. Finally he got a trigger point—his fingers were now bloody though—and ripped the face-plate off. Hailey's face was pale and tear-streaked, blood was trickling out of her nose, and her eyes were closed, though they fluttered beneath the lids. A knot under his chest loosened; she was alive. He shook her shoulder gently, "Hails? Hailey. Wake up. I need you to wake up. Hails."

"Ugh." Hailey's eyes flickered open and shut a few times before they stayed open, though she lifted an armor-clad arm to shield them from the sun. It took another moment for them to focus, realize that he was there. Then another to track down his body to left leg, which now that he looked at it, was bleeding profusely. "You're hurt," Hailey said accusingly.

"Don't worry about that. I've had worse. Now what about you? Do you hurt anywhere?"

Her eyes slid past him to look over his shoulder; Clint followed her gaze and found her staring in the dark eyes of the Hulk. The two maintained eye contact for a full minute before Hailey managed a tight smile and then the Hulk let out a bestial roar and scrambled away towards Steve, apparently all out of gentle for the day. The Hulk promptly began tearing up the rubble, tossing the stone and mortar off to the side like they weren't several ton pieces of concrete. Natasha and Tony would be found very soon, at that rate.

"My legs. They feel really weak." Hailey returned her attention back to Clint and strained, lifting herself so she could try to look at her legs, but the suit blocked that move. There was a clunk as her head came back to rest on the ground. "An' I feel kinda dizzy."

"Can you move them?" _:Please don't be paralyzed._

"Yeah. It's just hard," she replied tiredly, managing to lift each leg in turn about an inch off the ground. But then her expression turned stricken.

"Hails…?"

Hailey lurched to the side, and Clint guessed what was happening about two seconds before Hailey started retching. Clint grabbed the shoulders of the suit and supported her weight until she stopped spilling the contents of stomach.

"Ugh. So…gross."

Clint smiled, in relief, in amusement, in ebbing fear—in _:Thank god, thank gods, she's alive to be puking_. "Think you're done?"

Hailey nodded warily, and Clint stood, bracing himself before he reached down to pull Hailey to her feet. She wobbled once he got her vertical, so he wrapped an arm around her waist until she got her balance. And now, at closer inspection, the reason the limbs of the suit had looked crumpled from afar was because they were—or rather, they were bunched together.

The panels had overlapped themselves to try to fit her and even then, the suit was still way too big for her. Right now, she was his height instead of being five or six inches shorter. It was disorienting, but more importantly it begged the question,

"Where are your feet?"

A grin charged with a dizzy madness—battle and fatigue drunk. "Not where they should be. Neither are my hands."

_:Grinning like a loon, more like. _Clint laughed briefly, feeling the wind-down of battle fever just as much as her and looked down at the feet of the Iron Man suit, trying to guess where her feet might be. _:No wonder she can't stand up. Probably feels like she's on stilts._

"Go on ahead. Come and get me once you get Tasha." Hailey motioned him away, which would've left her flat out again if he hadn't been holding her up.

"Not in this lifetime." He was not about to leave her alone. _:Again. _

"But."

"No 'buts'." Clint grabbed her and slung her over his shoulder, suit and all—which dug in quite uncomfortably—then starting walking to where he could see the Hulk pulling a red and gold suit of armor from the wreckage under the watchful eyes of Steve and Natasha. The Hulk laid Stark out just like he had Hailey, though he started roaring at Tony, trying to pull another Manhattan.

"This is quite unnecessary," Hailey grumbled, her voice sounding odd echoing out of the suit and up his back.

"To you. To _me_, it's extremely necessary that I not let you out of my sight until we've been evaced," he retorted.

Hailey fell silent at that, even when he hefted her off his shoulder to place her gingerly on the ground, her back propped up against some rubble. He turned around, to where Natasha was checking Stark's pulses, and Steve was directing the Hulk and Thor to make sure all the weapons in the warehouse had been destroyed and to retrieve Bruce's pack (containing another set of clothes and a medical kit) from where he'd been sitting on the sidelines, before the mission went all to hell. Clint wasn't sure how much got through the rage, but the green giant stomped off and began started tearing through the pile of rubble that was the remains of the weapons warehouse, Thor at his side (though out of immediate range of the Hulk's reach).

"Did someone call for evac?" Clint asked.

Steve nodded tiredly. "Fifteen minutes out."

Tony was still unconscious; Steve and Natasha had already pried the faceplate off—he was breathing, always a good sign. _:He must be pretty badly concussed if he hasn't woken up yet._ Clint wasn't entertaining any ideas where Stark didn't wake up. In many ways, though Clint would never admit it to the man's face, Stark was the glue of the team. Without him, Steve would still be holed up at his apartment in Brooklyn, Bruce would be as far removed as possible, and he and Natasha would be back at SHIELD headquarters and staying at their myriad of safe houses when not on duty. And well, Hailey wouldn't have the home she had.

._ :Stark's alive, is going to stay alive. End of story._ He looked up from Stark and met Natasha's gaze.

Clint took one look at Natasha's blood and grime streaked face before he asked, trying to keep too much concern from leaking into his voice, "Вы действительно хорошо паук (Are you really okay Spider)?"

She shrugged, which he understood to mean "As okay as I can be". No serious injuries then, just minor cuts, scrapes, and bruises, along with mental fatigue, though he couldn't help but search her for injuries anyways. She was doing the same thing—frowned when she found the still bleeding bullet-hole—then silently pulled out a strip of cloth from a compartment in her belt, reaching out to hand it to him.

Clint took it, then shifted back onto his right leg in a crouch, so he could stretch his left leg out. That was something normally in his realm of attainable, but after today, his muscles were too tired to support him like that long enough to tie the bandage on. _:Of course._

"You got it?"

"Yeah Tasha, I got it." Clint gave up trying to balance with a shred of his dignity as let himself plop over gracelessly onto the ground. He looked back to her and flashed her a faint smile of thanks.

Her mouth quirked up at the corner, a hint of the smirk that would normally be there, but she was beyond that. Everyone was. Steve was sitting Indian-style, his hand and arm propping up his face, Natasha was wedged between a large chunk of concrete and Stark's suit, Hailey wasn't making a peep from her place, and sure enough, Bruce came walking from the building—decidedly not green and blessedly human-sized—and a bonus: fully clothed.

Thor followed in behind him carrying the faceplate of the Mark 5, still in his battle armor, and remained standing guard when Bruce plopped down next to Stark, checking his breathing and pulse. No one bothered to tell him they'd already checked: there were some things in life you had to check for yourself.

Now was as good a time as any to bring up the obvious. "We were fed bad intell," Clint said, watching for surprise on anyone's faces.

Thor frowned at this revelation, though it didn't appear to be news to everyone else. Natasha met his gaze with a cool, steady look that told Clint she'd already realized this and was ready to bust the head of whoever had set them up. Steve just looked resigned and nodded in agreement. _:Nothing about the future is how he imagined it, I guess._ Then Bruce, after sustaining that much rage, was an exhausted human once again—a human that had seen far too much and really didn't seem that alarmed they'd walked into this situation basically blind as to what was there. _:Not that I can really blame him… _

"I do not believe Director Fury knew of this," Thor said as he wiped some blood off of his hammer, Mjolnir.

_:Always seeing the best in people. That's his weakness_.

Clint couldn't say he completely believed that; he and Nick Fury had a history that led to his distrust of the man, but in this particular case, he couldn't see _why_ the SHIELD director would have reason to send in the team he fought so hard to assemble, only to have them misinformed, then annihilated. It didn't make sense.

But nothing could sway Clint from the belief that the agent who reported back to SHIELD about the rebel group and the weaponry would have mysteriously vanished by the time the Avengers were able to report back to base. The only accurate information his team received was the location of the warehouse and the confirmation that the rebels had Phase 2 weapons. Otherwise, the estimates on the number of rebels and what kind of weapons and explosives they possessed were horrendously underestimated. _:If Hailey hadn't shown up, Stark, Natasha, and I would probably be dead. _

Clint glanced at his daughter—he didn't think he'd ever get tired of seeing her _breathing_—who seemed a bit glassy-eyed as she sat propped up against the rubble, and scrutinized her face. Paler than usual, a rapidly purpling bruise was spreading across her forehead and, yes, dilated pupils. Extremely dilated: like walking through a dark forest by the light of a crescent moon dilated. _:Shit. Concussion._

He heaved himself onto his knees and crawled the few feet over to Hailey. "Hey, Hails. What's your full name?"

She seemed to have a bit of trouble focusing on his face, but her retort was snappy enough. "Why? You forget already?"

_:Smart ass._ He bit back a chuckle and maintained a stern face as he replied, "Humor me."

"Hailey-Lynne Davenport. I turn fourteen next month. I live at the Avengers Tower with you, and I just blew up a munitions depot using the Mark 5. The year is 2012, and I'm pretty sure it's a Monday, but don't hold me to that one."

Clint's mouth quirked up in the corner with a grin at her spunk. It quickly faded when Hailey's eyes promptly rolled back in her head; thankfully he'd left the neck-piece on the suit, which keep her from slumping over completely.

"Where the fuck is the evac team?" Clint snarled as he checked Hailey's pulse: faint, but steady.

Steve had jumped to his feet when Hailey fainted, but now his attention focused towards the forest. He calmly pointed in the direction they'd come from; Clint followed his gaze, but saw nothing. Then a few moments later, he could hear the beating of chopper blades against the cold mountain air.

* * *

"Right now I'm going to skim over the fact you managed to piggy-back our comm-link frequency, by-pass the security measures on the Mark V, and fly in it to exactly where we were to save our asses. Really, I'd just love to know how you hitched a ride half-way around the world on my private jet without being seen by any of us," Tony said, eyeing the teenage girl with equal parts insatiable curiosity, outright disbelief, and awe.

Hailey gritted her teeth, but managed to produce a hesitant smile. Clint looked back to his daughter and gave her a look that he hoped conveyed "you _will_ be telling us about this later". That smile vanished, and she busied herself with playing with the IV line hooked up to a drip above the bed, avoiding Clint's gaze.

"Don't pull that out. I've seen more than enough of your blood today," Clint admonished. Hailey quickly dropped the tubing and looked up at him sheepishly. He tried (_:And no doubt failed_) to give her a stern look, but thankfully a commotion from outside the sick bay distracted him from that parental failing. Voices made their way inside from the hallway leading to the sick bay.

"Miss! You don't have clearance to be back here," exclaimed a male voice that Clint placed as Agent Hanson, the SHIELD agent guarding the entrance to the hospital wing.

"The _hell_ I don't!"

Clint's eyebrows shot up in surprise when he recognized the second voice. _:How'd she even get here this fast? _He glanced over to Tony's cot from where he was sitting perched on Hailey's bed. The genius, billionaire, "playboy", philanthropist's face was frozen in shock._ :I think it's safe to say we can take the playboy out of his title_, Clint thought with a smirk.

"Who told Pepper?! They haven't even cleaned the blood off me yet!" Stark yelped, clambering to reach the clean bandages placed on his bedside table, though he ended up facedown on his cot. Iron Man was apparently still very dizzy from his concussion. Clint glanced at Natasha when she snorted at Tony's frenzied movements.

Tony heard it too; he glared at Natasha, where she was leaning casually against the wall between Tony's and Hailey's beds, rolling her eyes at his outburst. "It was you, wasn't it?! Who's side are you on?!"

She replied levelly, "She deserved to know. Plus, she's your healthcare surrogate and you were unconscious up until we got you back to base. We had to call her to make decisions on your behalf." Then with a careful glance at Hailey, she added, "Not mention she was already en route. Something about tracking us down since a certain _someone_ was missing."

Hailey gulped at that and seconds later, Pepper burst through the doors to triage. "Oh god Tony!" She rushed to his side and starting assessing the wounds; it took her a minute to realize she wasn't alone in the room and another few seconds to hone in on Hailey. "_You_. I'll deal with you later."

Clint shook his head at his daughter when she looked to him for reassurance. "Don't look at me like that. You deserve whatever she has in mind for you. You probably scared her just as much, if not more than me."

Hailey sighed, then her face suddenly tightened. Clint dove for the emesis basin just as the wave of nausea hit her and thrust it at her chest. Just in time too—Hailey vomited up what little was in her stomach before she collapsed back onto the cot. A nurse came running in—Hailey's heart rate had spiked—and evaluated the situation before leaving the room and returning with anti-nausea medicine.

"The doctor will be back in a few minutes, but I can already tell you that both of you will be staying overnight, if not for several days," the nurse, Anne, said as she gave an IV push of Zofran into Hailey's bloodstream.

Immediately after Dr. Hernandez came in with the CT results for both Tony and Hailey and announced both needed to stay under observation for at least a day, they were moved from the triage area into their own separate rooms. The hospital rooms were right next door to each other, and as soon as Hailey was settled in, Thor, Steve, and Bruce stopped by to check on her and say good night. Steve offered to sit up with Hailey, but Clint thanked him and declined: he had it covered. _:Going to need to get some caffeine though if I have any hope of staying up all night. _

Natasha solved that problem for him though.

"Go get some sleep. You got shot today. I'll call you in a few hours so you can take second shift," Natasha said, unfurling a blanket over her legs as she situated herself into the bedside chair, her Glock evident on the nightstand—within easy reach. He'd have to fight her to get her to move, and after today's mission the odds were weighed heavily in her favor.

Clint was a bit dubious, though comforted by Natasha's seriousness at protecting Hailey—the Avengers still didn't know the status of the agent who'd reported the intelligence for their mission. But this was _his_ job. _:But God am I tired._ He smiled hesitantly at Natasha and caved. His leg was throbbing as was his head, and all he wanted was some place to shut his eyes and not have to worry for a few hours. Plus, he knew he could trust his partner to keep Hailey safe. He planted a quick kiss on Natasha's lips and turned to Hailey, who had been pretending to sleep, but her eyes flashed open when he began speaking.

"And you, _never, ever, under any circumstances,_ do that again. Oh, and you're grounded." Clint leaned over and pressed his lips to Hailey's forehead. Then in a whisper, "And I'm so proud of you."

She didn't seem to know what to make of that: went from a scrunched forehead, to a frown, before finally settling on a smile.

"Don't get any crazy ideas from that. What you did was foolish, reckless, stupid, and…incredibly brave. But in the future, please leave the fighting to the trained professionals. 'Kay?"

"Got it. And don't worry. I _never_ want to fly again. It's terrifying. Uncle Tony has some serious thrill issues."

_:Uncle Tony? Did she just say Uncle- _

She didn't give him a chance to go over the ramifications of that bombshell though. "So what exactly do you mean by grounded?"

He had no idea. Clint had never been grounded, and obviously had never had to ground anyone. But damned if he was going to come up with it now; he was tired, hurt, and hungry, with a mind that was spinning in circles. Now that he could rest assured Hailey was alright, that's exactly what he was going to do. _Rest_.

"In the morning Hails. I'll figure it out in the morning." _:Though technically, it's already morning_.

"Okay. G'night."

He didn't bother to correct her. There'd have to be a lot of explaining to do tomorrow: to his teammates, to Nick Fury, to Hailey. And Clint wanted none of it right now. He was going to raid the mess hall, take some pain medicine, and then go find a room to crash in.

He was alive, and so were Hailey and Natasha, and right now that's all that mattered to him. Everything else could bloody well wait.

So Clint slipped out the door and made his way past the nurses' station, begged off some pain pills from a cute, young nurse, and started to exit the hospital ward when the doctor from earlier flagged him down from inside his office.

"Something I can do for you?" Clint asked, trying not to sound too brusque, but he really wanted to eat and be horizontal within the next few minutes.

Dr. Hernandez smiled wearily, which seemed to add a few years to his face, and said, "I know you probably want some sleep, but I wanted to show you Hailey's CT scan."

That set off alarm bells in Clint's head, and the fatigue that had settled in vanished with a snap. "There something wrong?"

"Aside from what I told you earlier—the slight swelling—it's not _wrong_."

Clint arched his eyebrows at that. _:The fuck is that supposed to mean?_ He inhaled deeply, trying to breathe in some calm, before saying, "And what does that mean?"

Dr. Hernandez clicked his mouse several times, then swiveled his computer monitor around to face Clint. One more click and three images were brought up side-by-side. He used the mouse to point to the image on the left. "See this here? This is a normal brain: no injuries, no drug abuse, slightly above-average intelligence. This one here on the right, this Hailey's brain. Granted, there's some swelling in the right frontal lobe, but see how over-developed the temporal lobes are? Now here is Mr. Stark's brain; he's got some swelling at the back of his cerebrum—in the occipital lobe—but see how his frontal lobe is over-developed?"

Clint nodded along, though in his exhausted state, he wasn't real quick on the uptake. He motioned the doctor along to continue.

The doctor nodded, then added with increasing excitement, "I've never seen someone's temporal lobe developed to this degree. Comparatively, Hailey's temporal lobe is over-developed to the equivalent of Mr. Stark's frontal lobe. The over-development of the frontal lobe, by the way, is most often associated with extremely high IQs."

"What are you getting at?"

Dr. Hernandez met his gaze, with a hopeful expression. "I'm not sure, but it has to be significant. The temporal lobes are associated with perceiving auditory stimuli, among other things, such as speech and memory. I'd love to run-"

Clint knew where this was going and cut him off, "_No_, you're not running more tests on her, unless it's medically necessary. Okay?"

Clint got no response. "You hear me?" Clint asked, though it was verging on a snarl.

The doctor nodded his head, defeated, and Clint took his leave. He limped down the hall towards the mess hall thinking, _:One more Hailey mystery to add to the pile._

* * *

Clint woke with a start, which translated into a grimace when the movement reached his leg, the bullet wound still achy._ :Bullet wound. The fight. Hailey. Shit, what time is it?_ The archer rolled over, then sat up in bed, looking at the red glow of the digital alarm clock. _:10:30 am? Why didn't she wake me up? _He pushed off the bed, found his discarded shirt from the night before, shrugged it over his head and shoulders, and was out the door in less than a minute.

He ran (hobbled) to the medical bay and threw open the door, pacing down the hall to Hailey's bed to find Natasha and Hailey in a fierce game of poker. Hailey apparently was holding her own, which was surprising given his partner's poker-face and expertise at the game. _:She's probably going easy on her,_ Clint thought, a smile sneaking onto his face. His eyes traced over Hailey—noting the pallor of her skin—but he was comforted by the spark that had returned to her eyes. Natasha had faint rings underneath her eyes, but otherwise seemed chipper.

"Hi," Hailey murmured from her propped up position on the bed.

She graced him with a tiny smile, which he returned before querying, "How're you feelin'? How's the head?"

He had to admit, the bruise spreading over her right temple was spectacular—in both size and color—but admiration of war wounds was shared between agents at mess hall. Hailey was not an agent, never would be if he had anything to say about it. So he hated everything about the bruise marring her forehead and especially what it stood for—his failure. Hailey grimaced and lifted a shoulder. _:Guess that means not great._

"Legs hurting much?"

Hailey lifted the sheet off the bed, exposing her scrawny (and rapidly purpling) legs, as she said, "They're bruising pretty bad, and they feel real stiff, but could be worse." She shrugged, sounding much more cavalier about yesterday's experience than he would _ever_ be able to.

_:Almost seems like someone might've talked to her about it._ Clint's gaze slid sideways and eyed Natasha speculatively; she shot him a balefully innocent look, as if daring him to call her out on it. _:Fair enough, a girls' night. _Recovering his surprise he asked, "You girls get any sleep last night?"

Hailey and Natasha shared a secret glance, before Natasha shrugged mysteriously and Hailey responded, "Noooo…" She laughed then added, "I couldn't sleep. And Tasha stayed up to keep me company."

Clint didn't bother to correct Hailey, nor did Natasha; Nat had been on guard detail and therefore would never sleep, not until she's been relieved. But Hailey didn't need to know that: didn't need to know shit might be about to hit the fan. _:There'll be time enough for that later._

"Now, would someone tell me why there is a thirteen year old girl in my medical bay?!" Nick Fury's voice carried down the hall, booming menacingly.

Clint and Natasha both jumped to their feet, shifting instinctively into guard stances—Clint at the foot of the bed, Natasha at the side. The director of SHIELD stepped into the doorway, his expression a cross between disbelief and annoyance that quickly morphed to a carefully controlled rage when his eyes locked on the girl lying on the bed. There was pregnant pause before the director managed to articulate his thoughts.

"My office. _Now_. Strike Team Delta has some explaining to do." Fury's entire body was rigid, his jaw clenched as he shifted the glare to Clint.

Clint didn't like his tone of voice, nor that Fury was singling him and Natasha out of the Avengers. He stood his ground. "I'm not going anywhere."

Nick Fury's visible eyebrow shot up in surprise. "Did that sound like a _request_?"

Bristling, Clint remained silent; his only move was to sweep his hand to the gun in his leg holster. Anger flashed Director Fury's eyes as Clint drummed his fingers lightly on the cold plastic grip. Nick Fury swiftly drew his own gun, arcing it up to aim at Clint's head. In his peripheral vision, he saw Natasha grab her pistol from the nightstand and aim it at Fury's good eye. The Director noticed.

"Wait! It's not their fault. They didn't know I stowed away with them. And I'll never use the Iron Man suit again, I _promise_." Hailey's voice was at the highest pitch Clint had ever heard it, and he darted a quick glance back at his daughter—her face was sheer panic.

Fury leveled that gaze, the one normally reserved for interrogating prisoners, at the girl. Clint barely resisted the urge to deck the man right there; no one scared his daughter and got away with it. So he exercised his self-control, but the hackles were definitely up. _:If he looks at her like that again, I _will_ take out his eye._

"The Iron Man suit?" Director Fury asked with a calm lilt, which to those who knew him, knew that meant he was dangerously pissed. Pissed from lack of information, in this case.

Hailey flushed and fell silent.

"Sir, what exactly were you told?" Natasha's voice was mild and did nothing to betray the fact she was pointing a gun at her boss.

"That I would find something very interesting in the sick bay with my top two agents. Apparently this individual thought it would be…amusing…to send me in blind." His voice suggested that this individual probably should be fearing for his or her life; nobody liked to be made a fool of, especially Nick Fury.

In a flash, Clint saw Steve Rogers appear in the doorway behind Fury, take stock of the situation, and make a snap decision.

"I don't think we want to do this here," Steve said, treading lightly as he stepped between Clint and Fury, which was also, coincidentally (or not), between Fury and Hailey.

Nick spat at Steve, "All of you knew?"

Steve looked at him eye to eye (_:Haha_) before shrugging, "Can't speak for the rest of my team-mates, but I did, yes. Now, I think everybody should step out. This _is_ a hospital ward."

Uneasily, Natasha holstered her gun, then Fury deliberately put his away. _:Don't trust him, but I'm a faster draw. _Clint finally lifted his hand off the grip of his gun, though he kept his hand right out of range, ready. The tension in the room was a sparking, roiling mass—one that could ignite with the slightest outburst. Finally the silence was broken. "My office, Agents. Now," Fury ordered.

_:Not on my life. Or hers._ Clint stepped back towards the bed. "I'm not leaving her alone."

Nick Fury's nostrils flared, "What, don't trust me Barton?"

"You know I don't. And you know why." Clint felt Natasha and Hailey's eyes boring holes in the back of his skull, seeking answers. _:The one thing I never told Nat_, he thought guiltily.

"We have some things to discuss," Director Fury replied, an alarming smile on his face. He turned to Steve, "I'll deal with you later."

Steve saluted at Nick Fury, an ironic smile fixed on his face, "Yes _sir_." The soldier spun on his heel and walked back to take Natasha's seat by the bed, laying his shield down on the bed where Hailey could reach it.

The chance to play with the shield broke Hailey out of her spell of fear (since she was too shy/polite to ever ask him to see it). She picked it up and laid it across her stomach—all the better to study the score marks in the paint. Steve's face softened, and he leaned forward in the chair to talk to her, though when he did, Clint noted the outline of a handgun under the leather jacket. He never knew Captain America carried concealed, but he wasn't about to argue. His daughter was in capable hands. _:And if push comes to shove, Steve can yell for Tony next door._

Clint motioned Fury towards the door, "After you."

* * *

Clint and Natasha trailed behind Nick Fury as he wove his way through the halls of the Helicarrier, leading the way to a briefing room on the next floor. Clint wasn't moving his fastest; while the bullet had missed everything vital in his leg, the path it paved through his muscle still hurt like hellfire, and he had a considerable limp. Natasha fell back alongside him, to offer support if needed.

She also shot him a probing look, no doubt wanting to know what he'd been referring to back in Hailey's room. _:Sorry Nat, that'll have to wait. _

Even though he wasn't particularly eager to engage in the upcoming conversation, Clint couldn't help but be relieved when Fury stopped in front of an unmarked door and pressed his eye to retinal scanner on the wall. The door slid open, revealing gray wall panels, a darker gray floor, and a gun-metal gray, fan-shaped table with chairs spread out evenly along its outer edges and one chair seated on the opposite side, at the center.

The Director waited until Clint and Natasha entered the room and the door swooshed shut before starting his assault.

"Imagine my surprise when I find out _this_ is why you didn't eliminate _her _all those years ago," Fury spat at Clint, but pointing at Natasha. "How long had you two been together before I sent you on the hit?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: The Avengers and its characters belong to Marvel Comics/ Disney.**

**A/N: ** Exciting things (at least for me) are coming. Stuff will be revealed, chapters/part of chapters will be written from Hailey's perspective, etc, etc. Not this chapter though.

Anyways, once again, thank for the reviews and follows. They mean the world and usually spur me to write more. Please keep them coming!

On another note, Nick Fury isn't the bad guy. He might seem a little villainous, but he's not. He's a man in charge of making a lot of decisions, choices that will affect a large population. He has to make those choices based on the greater good, and sometimes, he doesn't always play by the roles. That is all.

ladygris: Once again, thank you for your review. I'm still psyched about it.

Hedgi: Yes, our Nicky-boy does think his two master assassins have been holding out on him. Well, they have, but not about that, lol.

Lollypops101: He came to that assumption from a combination of bad timing, lack of sleep, similar physical characteristics between Hailey and Natasha, the SHIELD rumor-mill, and well, he's always suspected Clint and Natasha were hiding something.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

Natasha looked as confused as Clint felt. _:What the hell? How does he know I knew Nat from before the hit? Coulson _never_ would've told him. And what does that have to do with Hailey?_ Fear contracted his chest, making it hard to breathe. Clint managed to stutter, "I don't understand. What does Hailey have to do with Natasha?"

Fury gave him a look long on disbelief and short on patience. "You two are going to deny it? You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Deny _what_?!" Clint yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. He could feel his blood pressure skyrocketing. _:The _fuck_ is he talking about? _

Then Natasha started laughing. _Laughing_. Not her usual laugh—this one was out of control, full-body, tears leaking out of her eyes, laughing. Aghast, Clint eyed his partner like she had grown horns. _:…did I miss something?_ He shot a glance at Fury who was staring at one of his best agents with an arched eyebrow and a look of alarm. _:No help there._

Mildly, he asked his partner, "Uhh…Tasha? You okay?"

Wiping away the tears, she choked out, "He thinks Hailey is _our_ daughter. As in, I'm the mother." And commenced into another laughing fit.

Puzzle pieces clicked into place. _:OH._ With his daughter's height, eye color, and curls, Natasha and Hailey did look enough like mother and daughter to convince an outsider. Then his and Natasha's instinctive guard stances when Hailey was threatened._ :Not sure where my looks are factoring in there, except maybe to dilute down Nat's red hair, but people see what they want to see. _This realization had relief pounding through him: his and Natasha's secret was still safe.

A bubble of relief burst forth from his throat as a laugh—nothing like Natasha's, but a laugh nonetheless. Fury's expression grew even more apprehensive and frankly, Clint was surprised the man hadn't reached for his gun again, since his two top agents were literally cracking up in front of him. Brainwashings weren't that uncommon in their field that sudden personality changes could be written off. _:Not the issue in this case._

Gathering his wits, he said, "Hailey is _not_ our biological daughter. I found her living on the streets after New York. She was and, to an extent, still is in bad shape, but I took her in; she doesn't have any family except me, now. Natasha doesn't have anything to do with this."

Fury looked at Natasha—who managed to recover her usual poise—but got nothing from her except her stony stare before refocusing his attention back to Clint. "Prove it. DNA test her against your samples on record."

"You can go to hell. You're not getting anything from her," Clint replied angrily as he shoved up from his seat, hands braced on the table. Pain lanced through his leg from the sudden movement, and he clenched his jaw to keep in the cry of pain that tried to escape. _:_Shit_ that hurt._

Natasha cut in, "Relax Clint." Her green eyes locked onto his eyes and silently reinforced her words. He sat down, managing to make it look like his leg wasn't about to give out on him. Natasha nodded at his wise decision, then said to Fury, "Sir, I'm sterile, which you seem to have forgotten, or are over-looking. And I have been since _long_ before I ever met Agent Barton. The Red Room doesn't want anything distracting their agents from their jobs. Hailey is not my daughter, nor is she Clint's. By blood at least." She offered a smile in Clint's direction at that.

_:She handled that well. Completely leaving it vague as to how long we've known each other. And this is why she's the spy and I'm the soldier,_ Clint thought, mentally applauding Tasha's word choice.

"Regardless, part of your contract is that SHIELD needs to be aware of your family members, particularly children. Not to mention that members of Strike teams are chosen for their succinct lack of familial connections due to the…on-the-job…dangers." Director Fury trained his lone eye on Clint.

Clint didn't particularly like the emphasis and by the way his partner's eyes had narrowed, neither did Natasha.

That's when Natasha completely hijacked Fury's interrogation. She leaned forward, a deviously sweet smile on her face when she said, "Yes, just like in-house relationships are supposed to be reported to HR. Because I know _everyone_ obeys that rule."

A stare-down between Nick Fury and Natasha Romanoff commenced.

Clint schooled his expression to one of neutrality, but really a mixture of curiosity and surprise were eating him up. _:What's Nat got on Fury? _

And he wasn't going to find out right now—apparently—because Fury elected not to call Natasha's bluff, _if_ she was bluffing. Clint figured 75/25 that Natasha had something on Fury that the SHIELD director had been previously unaware of. She was a collector of secrets; even when she wasn't working, it was amazing what she picked up on.

In the silence, Clint picked up the earlier thread, surprising even himself with the amount of ice and venom lacing his voice when he countered, "You're jumping down our throats about Hailey when the _real_ issue here is that we were fed bad intell, and it nearly got several of us _killed_. If it hadn't been for my daughter, Tony, Natasha, and I would probably be dead. That tiny rebel group turned out to be a small army armed with Phase 2 weapons in addition to high-grade explosives. Your concern should be tracking down your 'missing' agent that fed you the intelligence about the weapons and not harassing us about our personal lives," Clint bellowed, his blood boiling.

Taken aback, Nick Fury arched an eyebrow and demanded, "Why was I not informed of this last night?"

"We did every according to protocol. Natasha, Steve, and I filled out our field reports on the ride back to base and reported to Agent Hill when we arrived. Our biggest concern at that point was that Hailey and Tony were going to be alright."

Clint didn't mention that Natasha had done his report for him—she wrote his signature better than he could—so he could sit with Hailey and keep her awake. The medics were more concerned about the unconscious Tony, whose left lung collapsed after being loaded into the helicopter. There were several frantic minutes of Bruce and the medics working over Tony where the others weren't sure if he'd make it.

"I'm still not understanding why I wasn't notified. _I _assigned the Avengers to this mission."

Natasha's temper flared. "Listen, take that up with Hill. You weren't here, and we reported to her. We were screwed over, and you're lucky the team is still intact. So back off."

Fury and Clint both looked at Natasha in surprise. She rarely lost her temper in a verbal fashion, especially in debriefings; in fact, she usually talked Clint down when he got worked up about the questions being asked about their missions. Director Fury wisely decided to reappraise the situation.

"Apparently, I need briefed on this mission in its entirety," Nick said finally, winning the understatement of the year. He leaned forward on the table, face solemn, all ears.

_:You think? _Clint sighed, preparing himself for another verbal sparring match, "Then we need to round up everyone."

"Except Tony," Natasha chimed in. "I doubt he's cleared to leave the hospital bay."

And technically not Steve, since he was sitting with Hailey. Clint would probably have to fight Fury over that too, but he knew the soldier wouldn't willingly leave Hailey's side. At any rate, it would take someone special to forcibly remove Captain America from the hospital wing. Hailey's guard was secure.

The director's face crinkled in distaste, but nodded in agreement. He held his hand up to his ear, activating the comm-link, "Hanson, locate Thor and Banner and have them come up to the C-level briefing room. Tell them Agent Barton and Agent Romanoff are already present."

He was pleasantly surprised. Fury hadn't even mentioned having Steve come up here for the briefing. The only other alternative would have been to conduct the briefing _in_ the hospital wing, in either Hailey's or Tony's room, which would've been a tight fit. The hospital rooms weren't designed to house seven people—several of which were well above average in size—comfortably, let alone house seven overlarge, agitated egos. _:Good._

Clint heard a garbled response from Hanson from across the room, and several tense minutes passed before Bruce, followed a minute later by Thor, arrived at the door. Bruce glanced around the room, noted the expression of those present, and laughed sarcastically and muttered under his breath, something about a time bomb. Natasha bit back a smirk about that, but Clint didn't get it. _:Must've been when I was under Loki's spell._ Thor squeezed past the others to take a seat—so no one would have to crane their neck to look at him—placing Mjolnir roughly on the table in front of him. The metal table buckled slightly under the hammer; Clint suppressed a grin at that, but more so at Director Fury's nostril flare in response to the vandalism.

"My apologies," Thor said amicably, trying to push the table back into position. He was might _too_ successful and ended up pushing the table-top up, forming a small dome. The god frowned and made a move to force it back down, Fury stopped him.

"Jus-Just leave it," the SHIELD Director ordered wearily, rubbing his eye before refocusing on the group before him.

The Avengers sat calmly, waiting for the interrogation to start. Nick Fury eyed each of them in turn before finally asking, "Now will someone please explain to me how Agent Barton's thirteen year-old civilian daughter ended up in Bosnia in an Iron Man suit?"

* * *

Clint knew this conversation was coming. Two hours later, those present of the Avengers staggered out of the debriefing room, a dissatisfied Nick Fury following behind them.

They'd been able to ascertain what went wrong and verify that all the weapons had been destroyed, but no one could come up with a plausible explanation to explain how Hailey wound up half-way across the world in a piece of tech supposedly only Tony Stark had the clearance and passcodes to access—much to Nick Fury's chagrin._ :Can't tell him anything I don't know myself._ The SHIELD director hadn't liked it, but by the end of his questioning, it was clear the Avengers knew nothing about how Hailey got there, other than as a stroke of pure luck. He'd been forced to let them go.

But moments after stepping out of the room, Natasha grabbed Clint by the arm and led him off. He followed her through the maze of halls—albeit slowly on his injured leg and empty stomach—down two levels and into the engine room. It would be near impossible to carry on a conversation amongst the bumps, hisses, and grinding sounds of the Helicarrier's running engine, but it would be even harder to try to listen in on a conversation. Precisely Natasha's plan.

"There something you need to tell me?" Natasha asked, suddenly spinning on heel to face him; apparently, she'd deemed them out of hearing range.

He scrubbed his face with his hand, apprehensive about finally coming clean. With a sigh, "I can't prove it. And just know the reason I didn't tell you in the first place, was because I thought it'd do more damage."

His partner's eyes narrowed to slits. "Damage to what?"

"SHIELD wasn't particularly pleased that I disobeyed the orders to kill you and instead brought back the enemy's top agent. Coulson and I were able to convince Fury and the Council to give you a shot. But you know that already."

Her right eyebrow arched up, and she motioned him to move along.

Clint continued, "Well, they imparted that I was fully responsible for you—including if you went rogue—and implied that they wouldn't entirely mind if you did. Then there would be a reason to eliminate you. I didn't care about me, but you, I wasn't going to let that happen to you."

Natasha's expression softened, out of surprise, but she quickly brought her neutral poker-face back up. _:Sorry…not the easiest thing to hear._

This was the hard part: the mission they never discussed—Sarajevo. Clint clasped his hands in front of him and looked down, then swiftly back up. _:Better get this over with._

"When you were captured in Sarajevo, I knew I couldn't call in for back-up. It'd been made abundantly clear that it wasn't of concern, whether you made it home or not. I thought I'd lost you, and I panicked; I called Coulson directly."

Her eyes had widened at the mention of Sarajevo, and he literally could see the wall go up. They just _didn't_ bring it up. But he pushed on.

"He helped me. Managed to track the car you were taken in on those shitty cameras that a few stores had back then for a few blocks, so I at least knew what direction they were headed. But if hadn't been for this little kid, I wouldn't have found you. He couldn't have been more than six, but he remembered the car and was able to tell me what road it turned on, once it was off the main streets."

A pause to collect his breath and his thoughts. "That narrowed my focus enough, so I followed his direction and ran around in circles for hours, looking for any clues. I had nothing, the sun was setting, and I'd nearly been shot by one of those bloody snipers twice when I stumbled across a building that was a little too heavily guarded for the area."

"You know the rest. But when I finally got you back to base, just the look Fury gave me during debriefing—it set off every alarm bell in my head. And when I accused him of setting up your kidnapping…well, he just sorta smiled and walked away. Didn't say a word."

"So I have no idea if your kidnapping was arranged, or if it's all an elaborate scheme to fuck with my head. Fury's never claimed responsibility or refuted it to this day."

Natasha crossed her arms, and Clint noted the tightening of her forearm muscle as she clenched her fists. Didn't need a psychic to tell she was pissed that she'd been left in the dark. "You had no right to keep that from me," she spat.

A flash of anger ran through Clint's mind; all of this had been to protect _her_. "Oh _yeah_? Do you remember Natalia? Remember how many times she almost killed me for trusting _you_ and turning my back? Remember how no one but me would come near you, 'cause they were terrified you'd snap on them?! Hate to break it to you Nat, but you didn't have too many fucking choices at that point. You were either a SHIELD employee or dead. I was trying to keep you alive."

She snorted, "You wouldn't have killed me."

"No shit Red, but I wasn't the only guy back then that could aim a weapon."

Her chin jerked up in defiance, "I could've handled them. _And_ the truth."

"_Like_ hell you could've. I hid plenty of things that happened, just no one would have excuses to try to get rid of you. I've told you _everything_, except about Sarajevo. You wouldn't have handled it, and it would've poisoned the little trust you had in others, aside from me," Clint fired back.

The injustice of her words heckled him. _:Like she doesn't have a boatload of secrets._ That thought ensnared him, and he threw it back at her. "And as if you still aren't keeping secrets from me. Like what the hell was that about with Fury?"

Standing scant inches from his partner, Clint stared right back into Natasha's glare, his anger at her seemingly unjustified anger being more than enough fuel to get him to forget about the fire in his leg and the lack of food in his stomach. Natasha finally caved first; she sighed and broke eye contact as she murmured, "So nothing else you haven't told me?"

_:Nothing you'll actually listen to_, Clint thought, holding back a sigh. The reason he'd disobeyed orders, the reason he'd endured the worst missions for two years, and the reason he was still sane after all this time—he was in love with Natasha Romanoff. The I'll-jump-in-front-of-a-bullet-meant-for-you, track-your-torturer-to-the-ends-of-the-earth, happily-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-waking-up-to-your-beautiful-face in love with her. And he'd never said those words to her. On one memorable (drunken) occasion, he'd slurred out, "Tasha, I love-", but she'd shut down every wall she had ever let down and left the apartment before he could finish his sentence.

Clint, of course, tried to stagger after her, but he was no match for Natasha in his inebriated state. She found him asleep in front of the door of the apartment the next morning, having forgotten his keys in his drunken rush after her. No words were spoken about the previous night. Ever.

_:Moral of the story? Don't try to tell Natasha you love her. _So Clint shook his head in response to her question.

"And I have told you everything…everything that could matter at least," Natasha said in a defeated tone, looking at the floor.

Clint felt a twinge of guilt in his chest, and he stepped forward, wrapping her in a hug. She rested her head against his shoulder; he savored the moment before whispering in her ear, "I know that. Sorry I got mad."

She rolled her head to the side a bit and smiled wryly up at him, "I'm sorry too." A beat, then with a catching grin, "Fury and Hill."

It took a minute for his brain to catch up. _:Fury and Hill? No freakin' way! _Clint looked at Natasha incredulously, "You're messin' with me. Fury and Hill? Just…how…_what…when_?"

Nat's expression scrunched up in distaste (_:Reliving a memory?_), "No joke. And I promise…I can _never_ un-see that. Or un-hear it."

Clint held her at arm's length. "You can't just say something like that and _not_ tell the story!"

She smirked at his curiosity, but decided not to keep him in suspense any longer. "Remember the time after Bucharest? When we couldn't—err—_wait_ to get back to a safe house?" Clint nodded (did he ever). She continued, "Well, after you left that old debriefing room, I was waiting for a few more minutes, so it didn't look too suspect. Just as I was getting ready to leave—I was standing in the bathroom at this point—who barges in but Fury and Hill. I didn't know what to do, but then they were at it, sucking on each other's faces like they were trying to devour the other person. It was, _disgusting_. I'm not going to tell you the rest because, frankly, I might vomit, but you get the gist."

She shuddered, shaking off the image. Clint grinned—he'd managed to keep that mental picture at bay and responded, "No shit? That's freakin' perfect." Then he couldn't hold it in; he started laughing. _:Hill and Fury? How does that even work? They're just…no!_

Regaining his composure, Clint brushed a lock of her hair aside—his stomach promptly gurgled—kissed her forehead, and then said, "Now, if you don't mind…"

Natasha laughed and finished where he left off, "Food."

So then, they walked out of the engine room, Clint's arm slung around Natasha's shoulders, on a mission for some warm food.

* * *

"Looks like there's no residual effects from the concussion." (Hailey snorted lightly at that, though made no eye contact when Clint shot her a probing look.) "The legs are going to hurt for a while, and for the first couple of days you might need some help walking," Dr. Hernandez told Hailey, then turned to Clint, "The bruising is going to get worse before it gets better. Don't be too alarmed about that, but if her legs start swelling and she loses any sensation, get her back here or to a hospital immediately. With that type of injury, it can lead to compartment syndrome."

Hailey and Clint grimaced simultaneously. _:God that hurt._ Clint remembered all too vividly of Natasha having to slice down the length of his calf muscle with his bowie knife when they were caught in a building collapse and were hours from being rescued. That had been the most intense searing pain of his life—which was saying something—given the injuries he had sustained over the years.

Dr. Harrison noted Hailey's expression though and asked, "I take it you know what compartment syndrome is?"

Hailey bit her lower lip nervously before answering, "Yeah. One of my foster brothers took a car on a joy ride with one of his friends and wrecked it around a tree. The car was totaled and crushed around his legs. Luckily, we were all wearing seat-belts. Even though Jared was drunk, he still hollered until the ER doctor relieved the pressure in his legs."

Clint and Natasha met eyes, both realizing this was the first time Hailey had volunteered information about her past, though neither commented on it at this moment. Dr. Hernandez nodded and continued with his instructions and an admonition to be more careful and wait until she was actually on SHIELD payroll before trying to save the world. Clint sent a death glare at him for that—_:Don't give her ideas_—which the doctor didn't notice, or ignored.

But Clint waited until the doctor left the room, then turned quietly to his daughter, his tone as neutral as he could manage, "And you were in the backseat of a stolen car with a drunk driver, _why_?"

Hailey flushed and stammered, "He wasn't drunk when we left. I needed out of the city, and Jared and his friends borrowed cars and drove them outta the boroughs all the time. So I tagged along, but once we got outside the city limits, I fell asleep. And apparently while I was sleeping, they shoplifted a bottle of rum, drank most of it, and decided to drive back home. I woke up on impact." Her eyes were steadfast on the sheets.

"Pretty deep sleeper," Natasha commented, her tone suspicious.

"I guess."

Clint's turn. "Why'd you need out of the city?"

"Too many people."

"Don't like crowds?" he queried.

"Do _you_?" she retorted feistily, now looking up at Clint.

Natasha answered, "No, only because too many things can go wrong, too many people can hide out in them. What's your reason?"

Hailey looked at Clint and Natasha in turn, her expression guarded. Her voice came out scarcely audible, "Makes me feel like my head is going to explode. Too loud—too many voices and people."

_:Well, I guess that answers our question of 'Is it agoraphobia?'. Now how am I going to help her? _He felt bad, having drilled her like that, but it was nice to finally have one answer at least; Clint swallowed reluctantly before saying, "That's why you never want to leave the Tower?"

Hailey nodded, avoiding eye contact again. Clint walked up to the bed and reached for her hand; Clint sensed Natasha slipping out of the room to give them more privacy. She didn't flinch away like he expected, but he almost let go—her hand was unexpectedly cold (_:Need to get her more blankets_). "Why didn't you say something?"

His daughter barked out a cynical laugh—filled with darkness and disappointment—that made him unbearably sad. All he wanted to do was take away everything that had happened to her to make her that pessimistic. Then she said, "Yeah, I've gone that route. Excuse me for not wanting to watch my childhood continue on repeat."

That duped him. _:Why the hell would someone toss her away when she told them? Bastards. _"That doesn't change anything Hailey. But if you need help, I'll get-"

"Why?"

Clint frowned, baffled by the question, "Why what?"

"Why did this scare off everyone but you?"

_:Good question, though I think it has more to do with the character of those who threw her away, than mine being stellar._ Clint took a seat on the edge of her bed. "I can't speak for anyone else, but honestly, I've known all along you're not a big people person. Nothing wrong with that. I'm not too big on crowded places either—that's why most of my safe houses are rather remote. But if you'd told me sooner, we could've moved out of New York. I want you to be able to enjoy yourself. Go outside, play, soak up some Vitamin D. You know?"

"Leave the Tower?"

"Yeah, leave the Tower. I worry about you Hails."

"But what about everybody else? Uncle Steve and Uncle Tony, and Aunt Pep-"

"We'd still see everyone. Don't worry about that. Anyways, we can talk about this later, when you're feeling better."

* * *

"Never seen that much water?" Clint asked his daughter as she stared enraptured out the front window of Tony's jet. _:No doubt one of the perks of being top-side for this ride, _he thought, since Hailey had finally admitted she'd stowed away in the luggage compartment for the ride to Bosnia_. _Clint set the auto-pilot and turned to watch her; he smiled at her fascination. The bruise on her forehead had faded slightly—it was purple ringed with yellow and green on the outer edges right now—and the tightness of her face had left once they took off from the Helicarrier.

Hailey shook her head slowly in response to his question, never taking her eyes off the water. With an air of distraction she murmured, "How far up are we?"

Clint grinned and checked the altimeter, which read 31,453 feet, before speaking into the headset, "About 31,500 feet. A nice cruising altitude."

She twitched, probably at his voice right in her ears, but made no comment. Clint checked all the meters and dials again; everything was squared away and there wasn't even a blip on the radar to signify another plane coming. _:Good time to take a piss._

"You got it for a minute Hails?"

Her eyes flicked over him, to the control panel (ascertaining that she wasn't truly in charge of flying), then back out the window before settling in her seat. "Yep," she said, a crooked grin sneaking onto her face.

With that, Clint unbuckled the restraints and slipped out of the cockpit, into the cabin. Natasha and Steve smiled up at him from their card game—poker from the looks of it—where Steve appeared to be holding his own. That, no doubt, was an illusion Natasha was propagating for the moment, until she swooped in for the figurative kill. Clint never played poker with his partner unless he wanted to end up losing all his clothes. He had never won a game against her and had lost several somethings, including his dignity on one particular occasion. They'd made a pact to play only strip poker after that. _:Least that way, even if I lose I still win._

He noted that Pepper had nodded off, her head propped on Tony's shoulder. Tony had his right arm wrapped around her waist, the left flipping rapidly through images on the 3D computer projector. The billionaire didn't even look up from his preoccupation. Bruce had on headphones and was tapping his fingers in time to the music, but nodded a greeting to Clint as he walked by. Seated the furthest back was Thor, reading _Pride and Prejudice_. _:Jane must've recommended it to him._ Clint tried not to snicker (but was only mildly successful). It made quite a sight, seeing a six and a half foot tall, hulking Norse god reading a Jane Austen novel. _:Someone needs to take a picture._

However, confusion etched on his face, Thor glanced up from the book he was reading as he noted Clint's presence outside the cockpit. The god demanded, "Hawk, who is flying the metal bird?"

Putting on his best poker face, he said nonchalantly, "_Airplane_. And Hailey's manning the controls."

"Little Hawk? She knows of flight?"

Tony piped in, "Of course. She's a hawk isn't she?"

Clint continued on towards the bathroom, suppressing a grin—just like the others who'd tuned in to the conversation—and in his peripheral vision, he saw Thor swing up from his chair (thankfully leaving Mjolnir where he'd been seated. Clint wasn't sure what effect the hammer would have on the plane's navigation, nor did he want to find out at 30,000 ft.) He was reaching for the lavatory door when a twinge of foresight hit him and he spun around. _:Shit… _

"No-no-no-no! Don't touch that! _Please_ sit in the chair." His daughter's voice carried back to him clear as day; Thor's response was so deep it was only a vague rumble to his ears where he stood at the back of the jet. "Thank you." Another rumble. "That? That tells the pilot if the plane is flying level." Rumble-rumble. "The altitude...how high up we are." Grumble, rumble-rumble. "No, I'm not flying the plane. It's set on auto-pilot." Rumble? "It's a setting that keeps the plane flying on a projected path." Silence, then _rumble_? "Umm...I'm not sure. Maybe you should ask Uncle Tony."

Thor's head poked out of the cock-pit and sighted in on Tony, intent on having his questions on the inner working of auto-pilot explained by the genius. Hailey flashed Clint a thumbs up from the co-pilot seat, then returned her attention to the controls. _:That's my girl._

Clint walked out of the lavatory to hear Steve sputtering at Natasha's hand. "But _how_?" the super soldier managed to stammer. Steve was too much of a gentleman to accuse the lady of cheating—or was otherwise smart enough to be aware of the possible consequences of that particular course of action—though he'd be hard pressed to prove it anyhow. Clint never went down that road (even when he was drunk off his arse), and he didn't even think even Stark was suicidal enough to bark up that tree. Didn't matter if she had or not; Natasha had a reputation to uphold amongst the boys at SHIELD and in the world of espionage. It was a bad idea to accuse her of cheating, even if she _was_ guilty.

Natasha blinked innocently as she swept the winnings to her side of the table before flashing Clint his favorite, wicked grin.

He clapped Steve on the shoulder as he passed on his way up to the cockpit, "Better luck next time brother."

"I could've sworn all the kings were..." Steve sputtered, before trailing off, defeated. His sad puppy face wouldn't get very far with Natasha, which he must have realized; he pushed off to go sit with Bruce. Natasha counted her earnings, then turned on appraising eye to Tony.

_:Stark won't know what hit him._ Clint snorted and moved on to the front of the plane.

He slipped into the cockpit and took his seat, quickly checking the controls before turning his attention to his daughter. Clint asked, "How's it going kiddo?"

Hailey turned to him—she was pale and had beads of sweat running down her face. She'd been fine when he left._ :Airsick? _Clint slid to the edge of his seat and reached out, concerned. "Hey, you feelin' okay?"

She shrunk away from his hand—Clint froze—waving him off. "I'm fine…Just feeling a little nauseous."

"Need me to get you an airsick bag?" He was already reaching for a cubby behind her seat._ :Poor kid. _

Hailey took the bag he handed her, but it seemed she was holding her stomach for the moment. With a sigh, she rubbed her forehead and then leaned against the side window, resting her face against the cool plexiglass.

On a hunch, he asked, "It's your head, isn't it?"

There was silence from the other side of the cockpit until he heard a whispered reply. "Yeah…it just feels…funny. Comes in spells."

"What do you mean by funny? You feel dizzy?"

Hailey shrugged, but then suddenly she was up, airsick bag in hand as she raced to the lavatory. Clint sighed, checked the radar and the autopilot settings, then pushed off and made his way to check on his daughter. _:What am I going to do with her if she won't tell me stuff?_

* * *

_(the day after the interrogations)_

_"How did you get to Bosnia?"_

_ "Carefully."_

_ "That _isn't_ an answer Hailey."_

_ No response. She averted her eyes, once again finding something very interesting on the bed linens. Clint raised his voice ever-so-slightly, "_Hailey_."_

_ Twisting the sheets between her hands, she whispered, "You wouldn't like the answer."_

_ "Try me."_

_ Hailey studied him and for the briefest of moments, Clint thought she'd tell him, but she suddenly shut down on him—arms crossed in front of her chest, veiled eyes, and a stubborn jut of her chin. From the body language, she wasn't going to answer him any time soon. _:How did she get there?

_ Clint was considering three options. One: she stowed away somehow in one of the cars, then snuck on the plane and later the quinjet. Two: she caught a cab, then stowed away on the jets. Or three: she caught a commercial flight to Bosnia and somehow found the quinjet where the Mark 5 was. Though all seemed as unlikely as the next._

:Option one is out because I saw her in the elevator when we driving out of the Tower and there's no way to have gotten in the cars once we were driving away. Three's definitely out, since she couldn't have gotten out of the country without money and a passport on a commercial flight. _Clint glanced at his daughter._ :Could she?

_ He shook off that thought, _:She must've caught a cab, and then stowed away on the jet when we weren't looking. But how did she know what airport, or even what hangar we were in? I never told her.

_ Clint knew how insane that sounded and having to explain it all to Fury the day before had made him acutely aware of the lunacy of the situation. That somehow a girl with no training managed to sneak aboard two aircrafts—one with no nearly no storage areas to hide in—in the presence of one demi-god, three varying levels of super-humans (one of which was a SHIELD agent of extremely high clearance), a genius, and him, SHIELD and army trained sniper and spy. _Without being seen._ Then proceeded to piggyback their comm-link frequency, override the security in place on the Mark 5, and fly _in_ the Iron Man suit to come to the Avengers' rescue. _

_ Any guesses he made were shots in the dark. Even if he ever found out how she managed it, he'd still probably have a hard time believing it. Hailey's feat was in the realm of fantastic._

_ Clint sighed. Nothing about his life made sense anymore. Long gone were the days where he did a mission, then disappeared off the map (usually with Tasha) until SHIELD called him in again. They'd rotate safe houses—a different country every time—with no real care. Then the Avengers Initiative and New York happened. And Hailey. _

_ He could never go back. Hailey had filled a void he hadn't known was there, but damn, did it leave him feeling like he was stranded in the narrow median of the Jersey Turnpike at rush hour. One wrong move and…_

:No use dwelling on it. Gotta move on._ He got up from the chair and ambled over to the bed. Hailey peered up at him, a question in her pure green eyes. Clint started, "What do you say, we take a little break from New York? Maybe a week or two? Just get away from everything. Go from there."_

_ "Where?"_

_ "I have a place in Alaska, in the Yukon. Nothing there but moose, bears, caribou, and wolves. But don't worry, I'll keep you saf-"_

_ Her eyes lit up, "There's _wolves_? Really?"_

_ Clint smiled—guardedly—at her enthusiasm and was a touch concerned at the succinct lack of fear when he mentioned bears and wolves. He'd have to watch her. And the wolves. Hesitantly, he replied, "Yes…there are wolves."_

_ Hailey's response was interrupted by her Aunt Pepper wheeling her Uncle Tony into the room. Tony looked a little worse for wear; he had a bruise to rival Hailey's that sprawled across the corner of his temple and down around his left eye, dark rings under both eyes, and a bruise that seemed to cover what could be seen of the left side of his body, but at the same time, Clint didn't think he ever seen the man happier. Stark smiled at Hailey, "How's my favorite micro-superhero doing?"_

_ She flashed him a smile. "Pretty good. My legs hurt, but Dr. Hernandez says I can go later today." _

_ Clint noted that she was careful not to mention her head, much like earlier. _:Interesting.

_ "Lucky you. I'm still being held hostage. Apparently I'm not even trusted to walk by myself." _

_ She beamed at her uncle and replied with a gleam of mischief in her eyes, "We were wondering how you were doing. Hadn't heard anything from you today…thought someone might've made due on her threats from yesterday."_

_ Tony laughed and collapsed over on himself, wheezing. _:Broken ribs._ Pepper leaned over Tony, her hand rubbing a small circle on his back; slowly, Tony regained control of his breathing and sat up, his face a bit pale._

_ Pepper eyed Hailey reproachfully. "I'm still really mad at you, but I can't be _that_ mad, since from what I'm hearing, you saved the day. And Tony. But if you disappear like that again, without even leaving a _note_, I'll, I'll…"_

_ Hailey had the sense not to snicker (like Tony) and the control not to break into a smile (like Clint); she simply looked up with unabashed eyes and waited for Pepper to finish. When Pepper couldn't find any more words, she said softly, "I'm really sorry. I should've called or left a note."_

_ Resolve faltering, Pepper sighed and walked over to the bed to give Hailey a hug; the girl managed not to openly wince, though Clint noted the pained expression on her face at the contact. Pepper whispered something in his daughter's ear—sounded like "I was so worried"—to which Hailey responded with another hushed apology._

_ "Are we done with the tears now?" Tony said, a smirk fixed on his battered face._

_Pepper rolled her eyes at Tony's words, but didn't comment, other than to vaguely smile, wipe away a tear, and move back to her wheelchair-bound Tony. She glanced at Clint's bandaged leg and queried, "How're you holding up?"_

_ He smiled at her concern and shrugged his shoulders. "Ehh, decent. It's a bit sore, but it was just flesh. It'll be healed shortly."_

_ The frown on Pepper's face indicated that she didn't consider a gunshot through the leg to be 'just a flesh wound', but she didn't get a chance to elaborate on those sentiments. Tony couldn't contain himself anymore._

_ "Pepper and I rented a place in the Bahamas, before this mission. We were going to get away for a little bit. But now we've got reason to celebrate, and we figured, why not invite the team? Everyone's been running around, going here and there. Everybody could use a vacation," Tony said, his face stretched in a grin under the bruises and the stitches Clint just noticed (the black thread was the same color as the bruise). _

_ Clint and Hailey turned to look at each other simultaneously—he had to laugh at her pleading stare. _:I wanted to take her up to Alaska, but I'll leave it up to Hailey and Natasha._ He was also intrigued about the news Pepper and Tony had to celebrate, but he wasn't going to bite. It'd drive Tony crazy, his utter lack of curiosity._

_ "It's on a private island. There are more than enough rooms for everyone, and it has its own skeleton staff that maintains it. It's closest to Grand Bahama island. Not very big, but it has a fresh water lagoon and a cove that's great for snorkeling on the inland side. Plus a zip-line through the canopy of the small rainforest too."_

_ Clint noted Hailey's piqued interest at the words 'private island' and mentally wrote off Alaska with a smile. _:Another time._ To Tony and Pepper he said, "That's actually kind of perfect. Hailey and I were just discussing getting out of New York for a little bit. But you're sure you don't mind us coming?"_

_ "No, no. It's a big house. Plenty of room for everybody and then some," Pepper said, while gazing at Tony in adoration. The feeling was mutual, judging by the softening of Tony's face and the goofy smile that slipped into place. Clint averted his eyes from the intimate moment and saw that his daughter was blushing, staring at the sheets of her bed._

:I'll have to remember stuff like that embarrasses her.

_ They finally broke it off and Tony said, "We want the whole team to come. It'll be fun." _

_ Clint grinned, "Well, I think that's a yes from us." Hailey nodded fervently and everyone chuckled. He added, "I'm sure Natasha would like to come, but ask her if you see her first."_

_ "Great! Thor and Steve already agreed to come. Now that just leaves Bruce and the ninja ballerina."_

_ He cracked a grin at that, then asked Tony, "How soon until you're ready to leave?"_

_ Tony shrugged his shoulders and answered, "Tomorrow? Hopefully. A certain individual seems overly concerned about my brain and its functions." There was a pause where everyone in the room eyed a cross Pepper, then quickly looked away._

_ It was then that Dr. Hernandez's voice carried down the hall. "Mr. Stark?"_

_ "In here," Pepper called._

_ The doctor peeked his head in the door, doing a cursory examination of his patients before saying, "Good to see you out of bed Mr. Stark. How's the head?"_

_ "Feeling worse than the ribs…unless I laugh…or breathe."_

_ "I hear that happens, when you get blasted by a dark energy gun, then hit the ground with accelerating velocity."_

_ Tony smirked, "Actually, I think it was the couple tons of rubble, but who knows? I wasn't awake for it."_

_ Dr. Hernandez failed at suppressing a grin. "Glad to see you've still got you humor."_

_ "It'll take a lot more than that to shut him up," Clint muttered, just loud enough for Tony to hear. He grinned wolfishly when Stark shot him a baleful glare._

* * *

When Hailey finally vomited everything she'd eaten—it seemed for the last several days—she came out of the lavatory, drank a bottle of water, and promptly fell asleep on a bench seat next to Steve. Clint retrieved a blanket out of a stowaway compartment and laid it over her, making sure she was completely covered before returning to the cockpit, with one more backward glance for his enigma of a daughter.

He was concerned that she'd left medical care too soon, though the doctor had mentioned that she might continue to feel the effects of the concussion for months to come. But if she didn't start getting better in the next few days, he might take her back to a doctor. Tony's private island was only a fifteen minute chopper ride from Grand Bahama at any rate, so she was close to medical attention if need arose.

They would be making landfall in about three hours at the Grand Bahama International Airport in Freeport, where they would all switch over to a helicopter and fly to the island, which had its own landing pad. _:Nearly there._

Clint sincerely hoped Hailey started feeling better soon; she needed this vacation and he wanted her to be able to enjoy it to its fullest. _:Time will tell I guess._

* * *

_ "Come on Hailey, I promise, I won't let you get swept away," Clint called back to his daughter, who was standing at the water's edge. Hailey was wearing the pale lavender two-piece bathing suit she and Pepper had picked out at the airport and a worried expression on her face. From here, he could clearly see the red scar across her abdomen, her ribs and hipbones sticking out, and the massive bruises on her legs; those visuals served as reminders of how far she'd come and how far she still had to go before she was healthy. He hoped the time away from anything she'd known would help with that. _

_ Steve (clad amusingly in red, white, and blue swim trunks) chimed in from beside him, "Come on, the water's great. Don't be afraid."_

_ Clint reached his hand out to her, though she was too far to reach it, and motioned her on. Hailey wrapped her arms insecurely around her middle, but sidled right up to where the waves ended on the beach. She waited until the tide pulled out, then she skittered forward, and with forced bravado, jumped the incoming wave and landed in about a foot and a half deep of water, with another good-sized wave on its way._

_ In the next moment, she uttered a bone-chilling scream—clutching her head—and collapsed, disappearing completely from sight as the next wave washed over her. _


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: The Avengers and its characters belong to Marvel/Disney.**

**A/N: **Greetings my lovelies! By now, I think all of you have accepted that updates come once a calendar month. I wish they could come faster, but alas, life. Need I say more?

I love the chime of new review email alerts in the morning, and several of you delivered on that for me. Thank you!

FYI, shashlyk is a Russian dish. Basically meat shish kebabs alternating with vegetables such as onions and bell peppers.

GiraffePanda2: Cue dramatic music indeed. Or maybe wait a chapter to cue the music. Hehe.

ladygris: I'm very interested in what your guess is. And I hope it's right. There's nothing as satisfying as figuring out foreshadowing and the little hints scattered throughout a story. That's when you get the odd stares when you're reading in public and suddenly yell out "I _knew_ it!"

Wings of Indigo: Welcome! And thank you, it is my pleasure to continue =)

The Rain On Your Parade: Long reviews make feel all warm and fuzzy inside, so thank you. And I'll answer some of your questions (vaguely). Hailey is over her aversion to Bruce, which will be explained fairly soon; I'll give you the hint that she was cured after the Bosnia mission though. Don't worry—Uncle Thor will be there. And bless you for starting to read a fic about a character that you weren't the biggest fan of. Jane will show up in the next few chapters for Thor. Not sure if Bruce and Steve will get love interests in this story…We'll see. Suffice it to say that I'm still a little torn up about Peggy & Steve from the Captain America movie.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

When the next morning rolled around and the rest of the team had stumbled into the kitchen with varying degrees of bleary eyes and bedheads without any signs of Hailey surfacing, Clint went to investigate. _:What if she got sick during the night? _Stupid_. Should've checked on her!_

Clint knocked on the door of Hailey's room. A distant, muffled "Come in" reached his ears, and he opened the door and stepped across the threshold and made a sweep of the room—no Hailey. Then he noted the open French doors leading to a veranda, complete with a hammock and a perfect view of the pristine beach and waters. Hailey was perched on the edge of the railing, clad in one of her new sundresses, the ocean breeze blowing her curls back from her face.

"Sweet view," Clint remarked, easing up alongside her. That's when he noticed the emerald green parrot sitting on the railing next to Hailey. No doubt it was wild, judging by the fully-grown flight feathers, but it sure didn't seem to be too afraid of humans. He tossed his head in the direction of the bird and said, "He seems friendly."

Hailey glanced down at the parrot—an Amazon parrot if he wasn't mistaken—and shrugged, but she placed her hand in front of it, and the bird demurely stepped up onto her hand. She brought it up in front of her face, humming softly to it and stroking it down the length of its back. The parrot made several cooing sounds as she pet it, though that was interrupted by the squawks of the parrot's flock in the distance. It took off with one last cluck and flew back towards the east side of the island, where the mini-rainforest was. Clint and Hailey watched it fade from view in a comfortable silence.

"The staff must feed the parrots or something," Clint said, merely thinking out-loud.

Hailey half-smiled, "Yeah…probably."

Her voice sounded a little funny, but she didn't seem inclined to elaborate any further (_:What else is new?_), so he left it alone. Moving on, he asked, "So what do you want to do first?"

She gave that a moment of consideration before saying, "Zip-line sounds fun. But so does the beach."

"Decisions, decisions."

She grinned at him, which turned to a frown when the wind changed direction and swamped her face with her hair. Hailey struggled a moment to get it under control, but then gave up with a gusty sigh. She slid off the railing and braced her back against it, letting the wind blow her locks out of her face once again. After carefully smoothing out the skirt of her dress, she glanced back to him, a wry smile gracing her lips.

Clint gestured to her a dress—a blue and white paisley print—and said, "The dress looks nice. Very pretty." And it was. It was also ten different kinds of wonderful to see Hailey in something other than a jacket and sweatpants, outside to boot. Granted, right now, her legs were a shade of purple that rivaled the blue of the dress and she was starting to shiver with the breeze blowing (which meant she'd be bundling up soon, as per usual), but still. _:Very different for her. I'm still surprised she picked it out._

"Thanks."

"You going come in and eat some breakfast?"

"Maybe in a bit."

_:Not again._ Clint caught the falter in her voice, and he was immediately on alert.

She read the worry on his face and said, "Don't worry, I'll come in soon. Just enjoying the fresh air."

He wanted to believe her, but the crinkle between her brows told him something was wrong. "You sure Hails?"

Hailey gave a smile that wavered around the edges and lifted a shoulder.

Clint had to wonder what happened to the excited, bubbly girl from last night. _:What changed overnight?_

* * *

_"This place is awesome!" Hailey called out, a grin on her face as she skidded to a halt on wobbly legs in front of the huge picture window that looked out to the ocean. _

_ Clint concurred. He'd never been to Tony's house in California, but Natasha's raised eyebrows confirmed that this place put it to shame in terms of size and beauty. _:Never seen a view like that_—turquoise water lit a gilded bronze in the fading sunlight and the purest white sand beach he'd ever laid eyes on. Everyone else pushed in through the door, suitcases and duffel bags in hand, making appropriate sounds of awe at the view from the open floor plan kitchen-cum-dining room-cum-living room. _

_ Tony paced slowly over to the window to stand next to Hailey—the man was literally a gigantic bruise on the left half of his body—following the girl's eyes as she devoured the sights. She finally turned to him, and Clint was just able to catch her words. "Thank you so much for inviting us." Her eyes flicked back to the water before she admitted, "I've never been this close the ocean before."_

_ Tony blinked in surprise. "No? Never? What about Hudson Bay?" Hailey shook her sadly. Tony pushed back the shock of her words and said soothingly, "Well, that's okay, 'cause the Bahamas is way better than that. Crystal clear, _warm_ water, coral reefs, great beaches. There's even dolphins I hear."_

_ Her face lit up like a Fourth of July firework display. "Really? There's dolphins?"_

_ Tony smirked, "So I hea-"_

_ Clint barely had a chance to register it before Hailey had run across the room towards him, pleading, "Can I _please_ go look for dolphins? _Please_?"_

_ "How about we wait 'til tomorrow morning? When you can actually see?" Clint suggested, after having taken a glance at the sun starting to sink below the horizon._

_ Hailey looked back out the window and sighed gustily, but nodded reluctantly. Steve chuckled at her morose expression, and Hailey stuck her tongue out at him, which caused laughter to break out all through the team._

_ Hailey gave a glare of mock indignation at everyone and said, "I see how it is."_

_ Arching his eyebrows at his daughter, Clint waited for her to crack. They stared eye to eye for a few moments before she laughed and skipped off (though she had to catch herself on the wall a few times due to the weakness of her still-recovering knees) to follow Pepper down the hall, presumably to find her bedroom. A smile spread on his face. _:Coming here was a good decision.

_ "This is the happiest I've ever seen her," Steve remarked, watching her bounce away._

_ Clint glanced to his right, "I was just thinking the same thing. Not sure what changed though."_

_ The soldier shrugged and replied, "I wouldn't question a good thing." Then he swung his scuffed, worn duffel bag over his shoulder and walked down the hallway after Pepper and Hailey._

:Definitely not. Though it would be nice to know what had changed, so I could make sure it stayed that away forever_. He sighed and glanced at Natasha, who was the only one left in the immediate vicinity. Thor and Tony were mixing drinks, and Bruce was standing alongside, chatting with them—though refusing any alcohol they tried to pry him with. Clint smiled at his partner and offered, "I'll handle the bags, and you get me a drink Tony hasn't spiked with something god-awful?"_

_ The corner of her mouth quirked up into an almost smile. It would've been a real smile if she hadn't been so tired. Nat couldn't sleep on airplanes—something about relinquishing control to others—and hadn't slept since before the mission. She claimed she slept last night, but Clint knew better. She looked exhausted—dark rings under the eyes, a slightly ashen pallor to her skin—not to mention her reactions were dull in comparison to her normal functioning level, and Tony had gotten away with calling her the long lost Grand Duchess Anastasia without losing a limb. She was off. He prodded further, "That sound good to you?"_

_ "Yeah. On it," she said, scarcely audible as she moseyed her way over to the bar. _

_ She seemed to shake off a little of the fatigue as she walked over, but Clint eyed her speculatively, contemplating whether he should knock her out tonight_. :Just a little pressure on her shoulder and she won't wake up 'til morning._ She'd be pissed as hell when she woke, but it might be worth it. A sleep-deprived agent, even on vacation, was a danger to his or her self and others. Their job wasn't always one that could just be left behind; sometimes it followed them home, or abroad._

_ She got like this sometimes after a particularly bad mission—hadn't slept in days and decided that she didn't need to sleep anymore. Craziest thing to Clint—he loved his sleep—but that was his Tasha. _:Maybe I can make it look like she drank too much. Hmm…

_ Thor hailed her with a concoction of what appeared to be a stomach-churning mixture of several different liquors, orange juice, and topped with what his nose identified across the room as moonshine. And _not_ of the well-cultivated variety. _:I might not even have to worry about knocking her out…if anything will affect her, _that_ will.

_ Clint shook his head, revolted, and grabbed Natasha's bag, along with his own and marched down the hall. Those nano-bots Stark poured onto his bullet-wound earlier had really done the trick; he'd never had a wound heal or stop hurting faster. _:It's just too bad they don't work on bruises. That would've helped Tony and Hailey_. Raucous laughs echoed down the hall behind him, and all he could think of were that disgusting looking drink and Natasha's famous ability for drinking everyone under the table. _

:We'll see, _Clint thought, following the sound of high-pitched giggling until he found Pepper standing just inside a room that Hailey was exploring with delight. Pepper flashed him a smile before going back to watching Hailey. Clint leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed across his chest and an all-encompassing smile on his lips, hoping he'd remember this moment forever. The first moment his daughter finally looked free and happy._

* * *

With a sinking feeling, Clint discerned that whatever afflicted Hailey wasn't completely gone. _:Maybe the excitement of last night overrode her phobias?_ Clint sighed and backed up, intent on giving Hailey her space.

Hailey turned, hesitation written on her features, as he retreated back into the room. He sensed her movement and froze, hand on the doorframe. Clint inclined his head in her direction; she rubbed her arms nervously, then tugged at her hair.

Clint knew better than to speak now. If she was going to talk to him, it would only take a word or two to shut her down. But her head dipped down, and she moved her body slightly, until she was facing away from him. It didn't take a body language expert to read that she wasn't going to talk about what was bothering her. Clint took his leave. _:But when?_

* * *

"We've got a call from headquarters," Tony said, eyeing the buzzing console.

"It hasn't even been a day yet. Surely SHIELD can hold the world together without you all for that long," Pepper commented from her seat at the kitchen counter. She seemed to be tired—a little out of it—simply nursing her morning tea instead of bustling around like her usual self. Clint filed that away for future inspection.

Tony shot Clint a meaningful look. _:'Kay, I think I know what this is about then. _Clint shifted to his feet and strode over to the doorway that opened onto the pathway down to the water. He searched out a flash of red and sighted in; he whistled one short blast that sent Natasha and Steve's heads spinning in his direction. He waved his arms, motioning them up to the house, and Natasha summarily broke into a slow jog towards the house. Steve turned to the water; seconds later, Thor emerged from the surf, long hair sopping wet, his hands clutched around a large, indistinguishable object. _:? _

Clint shrugged off his curiosity—he'd find out soon enough—and stepped back into the house. Director Fury nodded at him from the holographic image projected right on top of Clint's abandoned breakfast. Clint nodded gruffly in return and slid against the back wall, letting everyone else pile around in front of him. Just the way he liked it, watching from the shadows. A minute later and the whole team had arrived, plus Hailey, who sidled in beside him, blocked from Fury's view by Steve's broad shoulders.

Everyone seemed to look to Clint with raised eyebrows, asking silently, "Is it okay she's here?" Clint nodded and shrugged in response. His daughter had proved herself capable of keeping secrets and since what Fury was about to discuss directly involved her, Hailey had every right to be there. _:Must say I approve of her keeping out of Fury's sight though. Smart girl. _

Noting the team's presence, Director Fury began, "I have some information for you. Agent Barton's theory checked out on the informers that gave us the tip on the weapons cache. Agent Ronko was killed on the mission, as you all know. So the information, along with Ronko's body, was brought in by his junior partner, Agent Carlisle. Relatively new recruit, but at any rate, she's disappeared. I've transferred the few pictures we have of her from her ID photos to your phone Stark."

A chime signaled the file's arrival, and Tony tapped and swiped at his screen for a few moments before the photos showed up behind Fury's head in the projection.

"Богоматерь (Mother of god)."

A feeling of dread in his gut, Clint's head snapped to the side, searching out his partner. He found her clutching at the beach towel wrapped loosely around her torso, her face sheet white. "Tasha?" Clint asked, sliding past Hailey to get to Natasha's side. He reached out and touched her shoulder; she blinked and then looked to him, worry and a bit of fear leaking from behind her mask.

"Agent Romanoff?" Director Fury wore an expression of impatience as he waited for Natasha to explain her reaction. Judging by her expression, it couldn't be good.

Clint's hand sought hers, and she absent-mindedly squeezed it as she gulped, then cleared her throat. "That's Mariya Gorshkova. She and I were in the same class in the Red Room."

Natasha had run into some of her former countrymen and women before—with varied results—but he'd never seen this reaction. _:Who the hell is this woman?_ Clint looked at Natasha with concern.

There was silence before Tony breached the subject, "Well that's not…good, but what's the problem? Judging by your face, I feel like I should be suiting up for Armageddon."

Pepper's head snapped up when Tony mentioned suiting up and she began to protest, but Tony sighed and said, "Relax. Not today. Just a figure of speech." Pepper eyed him suspiciously, but their sidebar was put on hold when Natasha spoke again.

"I killed her my first year at SHIELD. Three bullets to the chest: one to the heart and each lung. And that was after breaking several of her ribs, puncturing her right lung, and shocking her before I got to the gun," Natasha said, her voice flat. With no further encouragement, she added, "So either that's a twin, Life Model Decoy, or she's been…brought back."

None of the options were particularly appealing, though the latter was decidedly less so. Quick glances were shot in his direction, but he didn't have any more to add. Clint remembered the kill (the description was pretty specific), but he hadn't known the woman was a Red Room agent. _:Nat left out _that_ little detail._

Director Fury frowned and turned back to speak to someone out of the projection's frame, the audio disabled. A moment later he was back, saying, "We've put out an alert to all of our locations. If she shows up at a SHIELD facility, the orders are to capture alive. We need to know what the hell is going on. And you're sure this Mariya?"

"Sure as I can be without showing you her bullet-hole scars."

The SHIELD director already knew her answer of course; asking for confirmation was just protocol. Grimacing, he addressed the group. "Rest up, but keep an eye out. I'll let you know of any further developments."

With that, the connection was gone, and Clint's oatmeal no longer had Fury's combat boot in it. That sent a few into titters of laughter, but the mood was a little too serious for jokes. Tony sighed gustily, then clapped his hands (how fast he could install some of his tech into a new place), which shut the doors and sent several chairs swiveling, forming a circle_. :Maybe it was already here? If he rigged it, it must've taken all night…_

Expressions of interest flicked to Tony, who sat down promptly on a stool next to Pepper and said matter-of-factly, "There's a story to be told." It was then that Tony noticed Thor—who held what appeared to be a ship's figurehead of a rearing unicorn in his hands. "And _where_ did that come from?"

Thor grinned, eager to share his story, but he motioned to Natasha and said, "I shall explain after we hear the Spider's tale." Mumbles of assent flooded the air as the others found chairs. Natasha plopped down into the nearest chair and half-smiled weakly at Clint. He returned the awkward, weary smile, then retreated to where Hailey sat and squeezed in with her.

Natasha tucked a wayward curl behind her ear before saying, "I don't know how much everyone knows about me before I was a SHIELD agent, but after my parents died, I was given to the Red Room for their Black Widow Ops program. Mariya arrived at the same time as me. Friendships were never encouraged—they were signs of weakness in our trainers' eyes. Mariya took that to heart…"

* * *

Later that afternoon, after the group had shaken off the ill feelings of the morning, they went exploring—down to the beach briefly to look for dolphins, but then up to the cliffs, to the zip-line. That had pitched everyone into brighter spirits after a rescue was mounted to retrieve Hailey from where she was stranded on the line. Clint had been the first to strap himself to the line and glide over the trees to the first stop, a towering tree with a platform built around its trunk to stand on while transferring the clips onto the next line. He landed on the platform with ease, startling the chattering birds in the trees around him, but they were a brash bunch and not particularly frightened of his presence; a flash of green by his head confirmed his suspicions—they were the same flock of parrots from earlier.

A zip-line was one of the few things in the world that let him be close to his namesake. If he ignored the harness and just gazed at the view below, it was easy to pretend—briefly—that he'd been granted the power of flight. Those moments didn't last long enough in his opinion. Still exhilarating though—flooded with adrenaline and excitement, he turned back just in time to see Hailey push off from the bluff, with Thor, Tony, Steve, and Natasha on the ledge beyond. (Bruce and Pepper had stayed behind at the house.) Hailey glided along, a wide grin on her face, until a gust of wind came from the south, rocking her about.

The swaying back and forth wasn't so much the problem as that the rocking sent her progress along the line to a screeching halt. Stopped mid-way between the bluff and the first clip-transfer where Clint stood, Hailey made several attempts to get herself restarted, but between the random gusts of wind and her insignificant weight, she was glued in place. And with the way the line and harness system worked, she couldn't reach the line in order to try pulling herself along. _:_If_ she was strong enough._

All that could be heard was the whistling of the wind through the trees until Hailey burst into laughter. "A little help here please?" she managed to get out between the giggles.

A knot of relief eased in chest. _:Thank god she's not scared of heights._ Now the problem was figuring out how to get her down. Clint couldn't go back on the line—there was a slight grade from he stood on the platform back up to the bluff. The design was place to keep the glider going from Point A to Point B, except—apparently—in cases where the person didn't weigh enough. So short of him climbing out on the zip-line by hand, he wasn't getting back to her. Hailey's rescue lay in his teammates' hands.

A flurry of activity on the bluff signaled an active discussion of the problem, the core of which seemed to be between Tony and Natasha, with Steve refereeing on the sidelines. Stark's hands flew as he—or so Clint guessed—explained his plan. Clint could practically feel the power of Natasha's eye-roll. Now, if Thor had brought along Mjolnir, the conversation would've been over, but the Norse god had left the hammer under Pepper's care back at the house, not feeling the need to cart it with him. Granted, he could've summoned the hammer, but that would have, at the least, put holes in the mansion walls as it hurtled towards its master.

Clint chuckled at the thought, then called out to Hailey, "Hang tight, the cavalry's working on the battle formation."

Hailey grinned and peeked over her shoulder. She shook her head as she faced forward. "I could be here a while."

"You good?"

She laughed, "Yeah. The view's pretty at least."

_:Indeed._ From where Hailey sat stranded, she could see the jungle, the ocean, and the cliffs. Clint leaned up against the tree trunk, waiting for the issue to resolve itself on the other end of the zip-line. He needn't wait long; seconds after assuming his position, he saw Natasha peel away from the group, clip herself to the line, and shove off forcefully.

"Heads up!" Natasha called, but Hailey was already bracing for the impact. In one fell swoop, Natasha's harness rig slammed into Hailey's, and Natasha latched her arms around Hailey; her motion was enough to send both of them bumping along the line towards Clint. He stepped away from the landing zone, giving them as much room as possible. Moments later they landed—a bit haphazardly—with Hailey still laughing.

The rest of the team followed, with Thor bringing up the rear. They all huddled around the tree-trunk. Steve clapped his hand on Natasha's shoulder and said, "Good call."

Natasha nodded knowingly and flashed Stark a smirk before she casually replied, "And I didn't even have to break out the Iron Man suit or rig a giant solar-powered fan on the cliff to get her the rest of the way across."

Indignant, Tony frowned at her words, "I was _not_ going to rig a solar-powered fan—though that probably would've worked…_Anyways_, talk about a father's daughter. Were you even scared?" His attention turned from Natasha, to Hailey, who had been watching the banter with amusement.

She shrugged and replied, failing to hide a smile, "No. Or not nearly as much as I was when I was in the Mark 5. At least I was tethered to something just now."

"Well, excuse _me_." Tony smirked at her spunk and grabbed an arm around her shoulders, giving her a mock noogie. Hailey squealed and skittered away. Clint and Thor laughed, and Natasha smiled at their antics.

Then Steve spoke up. "So how are we going to get Hailey through the rest of this?"

"I could hold her," Thor volunteered, and Hailey nodded amicably.

_:Not a bad idea, but…_ Clint glanced at Tony and queried, "Stark, what's the max tension weight for one of these lines?"

Tony's attention flicked over to Thor, then to Hailey. "I think we'd be pushing it. Know your weight in pounds or kilos Big Guy?"

Thor shook his head, and Tony grimaced. "I wouldn't risk it," he said, glancing next to Steve, analyzing the super soldier's mass. "You neither. It'll have to be one of us," he said, motioning between himself, Clint, and Natasha.

And that was how Hailey wound up being to strapped to the same clips as Tony for the rest of the zip-line excursion. Clint could hear snatches of their conversation, which seemed centered on the flight controls of the Mark 5, and oddly enough, the effects of various drugs on the body in zero gravity. _:Sometimes it's better not to ask._

* * *

Clint woke up rather abruptly. Weak light filtered in through the French doors that looked out to the sea—dawn was breaking—casting the whitewashed room in a soft glow. Natasha slept on, her red curls cascading across her face. He didn't want to wake her, not when she'd finally starting sleeping, but he made sure to make enough noise that her brain wouldn't register someone sneaking around in the room. _:A surefire way to get a gun pointed at my head this fine morning._

Not entirely sure what woke him up—he didn't remember a dream—Clint followed his stomach to the kitchen, figuring he might as well grab a bite and make some coffee for everyone while he was up. He padded quietly down the hallway, emerging into the open area of the main living space after having passed Steve's and Thor's rooms—the snores emitting from behind Thor's door sounded like he was housing a den of hibernating bears in there, which he and Natasha knew firsthand about. _:Friggin' bears_, Clint thought with disdain.

While he mulled over the one mission to the Swiss Alps that had ended with Natasha singing a Russian lullaby to the den of partially-awaken brown bears they'd stumbled into while trying to find an easily defendable hiding place, Clint rummaged through the cupboards for the coffee. He found a dark Colombian brew and put the ground beans into the filter of the coffee pot, switching it on. It was then that his brain registered movement on the far side of the room, near the windows, and also, something was out of place; the tiny figure partially obscured by the behemoth chair provided a clue.

"How're you feeling?" Clint asked Hailey, who was curled up on the chair, knees tucked against her chest, chin resting on her knees. The chair had been moved since last night—no doubt to take advantage of the patch of sunlight it was now currently in.

"I'm fine." Her tone was mildly exasperated, though, it didn't see to be directed at him, oddly enough. She hadn't even looked in his direction. He had probably been a bit overbearing after Bosnia, so he wouldn't have blamed her. But she just seemed withdrawn and distracted, not annoyed with him.

"Sure?" Clint stopped in front of the chair, feeling uncertain about whether to press her or not. Hailey sighed, then glanced up at him. She smiled tiredly and scooted to the side of the over-sized chair: an open invitation.

Clint smothered his surprise and took a seat. She snuggled up close, resting her head against his chest. A surge of fierce protectiveness flooded his body, and he instinctively pulled her closer. Clint murmured in her ear, "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"Yeah…I do," she said soberly. A brief silence passed, then, "What do you want to know?"

Clint bit back a dry laugh. _:What _don't_ I want to know? Everything…but not unless you're ready. I've already forced answers out of you._ _The rest has to be your choice. _But he shrugged and replied, "Nothing. Just wanted to make sure you knew you could talk to me. No judging. And I _won't_ run away."

Hailey wrapped her tiny arms around him and squeezed in response. "Thank you," she whispered.

He snugged her in close, her _still_ malnourished frame encircled his arms. Clint never thought he could feel this strongly about another person, and he honestly didn't quite know what to do with these foreign emotions. But he did know something, without a shadow of a doubt. "Love you Hails."

Her head jerked up, and she stared unabashed into his eyes. _:Looking for the truth?_ _Doesn't get truer that that._ Green eyes growing brighter by the second, she blinked back tears, then pressed her face back against his chest, tucked underneath his chin. Clint kept his arms wrapped around her, and if he heard anything that sounded like tears emitting from his daughter, he certainly didn't comment. They stayed like that, holding onto each other like lifelines until the sun had risen in the sky and the others woke up and began to pour out of their rooms in search of nourishment.

One of the best mornings of his life thus far.

* * *

It was the perfect day for the beach: brilliant blue, slightly cloudy skies, a five mile-per-hour breeze, and seventy-seven degrees. Clint glanced down and to his left, where Hailey clutched his hand like it was the last key to salvation, staring slack-jawed at the oncoming waves. He'd never seen someone look quite so terrified and excited at the same time. "You don't know how to swim?"

He didn't even need to really ask. From her reactions, that much was clear. She shook her head vehemently. Gripping his hand even tighter, she responded, "Never even been in a pool."

_:That's so…sad. Not pathetic, just sad. She's missed out on so much. Stuff even I managed to experience on the road with the circus._ He pulled her to the side, letting the others pass by. "We could just hang out in the tidal pools, then later today I can teach you to swim in the pool. Not quite as scary, yeah?"

She mustered up what he assumed was her brave face, but she couldn't sustain the bravado for more than a few seconds. "That'd be…good. I've read about all that stuff—undertow, rip currents, and well…" Her voice trailed off and worry crept into her face.

"No biggie, let's go check out the tidal pools. There might even be some fish or crabs in them," Clint said reassuringly. He hefted the bag with the beach towels, sunscreen, and drinks over his shoulder and steered off the path to the water, making his way to the first tidal pool—which was about twenty-five yards from the shoreline.

Hailey's grip on his hand remained steadfast as they walked away from the others.

Clint sensed movement behind them, and he smiled earnestly when he identified the source of the flash in his peripheral vision. Seconds later, Natasha plopped her beach chair down in the sand next to the tidal pool, followed by Tony carrying Pepper's chair for her. Then Bruce and Steve tossed down their stuff and proceeded to engage in an epic game of Ultimate Frisbee with Thor and Tony. (For obvious reasons, Steve and Thor weren't allowed to be on the same team.)

Meanwhile, Hailey stood for several moments, looking shocked that everyone had abandoned plans of the water and followed them. A small smile wormed its way onto her face, and Clint felt one twitching up the corner of his mouth in response to hers.

The sound of Stark hollering across the beach snagged his attention. "Hey, Bartons, are you coming, or what?"

He cocked his head to side as he glanced at Hailey in question. She grinned and said, "Those fish aren't going anywhere…"

Clint set his bag down next to Natasha's chair and chased after Hailey, who was already skipping across the sand to her uncles.

* * *

Thankfully, the house had been designed with a large, open kitchen; otherwise, cooking dinner that night would've been impossible. Nobody could agree on one thing, so everyone with any cooking abilities—Bruce, Steve, Pepper, Clint, and Natasha—proceeded to cook up their best dish. (The house's live-in staff seemed to be torn between shock and relief at not having to cook for the group—that night it was relief.) Making too much food wasn't a huge concern; when you had men like Thor and Steve—whose metabolisms seemed to know no bounds—food didn't go to waste.

When everything was on the table: spaghetti, chicken fried rice, shashlyk, vegetable soup, and waffles, Clint sent Hailey—who, along with Thor, had been watching the dance in the kitchen with utter fascination—to retrieve Tony from wherever he'd disappeared to. She returned with a grease-stained Tony minutes later just as everyone starting grabbing plates and finding a seat. Tony quickly moved to the sink and set himself to scrubbing off as much grease as he could with dish soap.

He managed to get himself reasonably clean, though he missed the streak across his forehead where he'd no doubt wiped his brow with the back of a grimy hand. Sauntering to the table, Tony gave Pepper a peck on the lips, then grabbed the glass of scotch that Thor had poured him. Standing next to Pepper, he gazed down at her and cocked his head to the side. She smiled widely and nodded.

_:This is it_, Clint realized, expectantly bumping Natasha, then Hailey with his elbows. Natasha arched her eyebrows at him, then glanced to Tony and Pepper, but Hailey just sat there, looking smug. _:She knows? What? How?! _Clint knew his mouth gaped open in surprise at his discovery, but then Tony was speaking, and he jerked his attention back to the couple at the other end of the table.

"Well, Pepper and I have some good news. I found out just before we left for Bosnia, but I didn't want to say anything until Pepper was back from her trip, then, well you all were there. The announcement got delayed. At any rate…"

* * *

**A/N:** I'm not particularly pleased with this chapter, but then again, I am my own worst critic, so I can't always trust my judgment. Anyways, Hailey POV in the chapter after next! *squee* I am interested in what people think of Hailey/her remarkability. Feel free to PM if you want to guess =) I won't tell if you're right or not—I'll let the next two chapters answer that for you, but you will have the satisfaction of having officially guessed right.


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